With a tight, two-handed grip on the handle of his axe, Buliwyf stares intently at his target. His muscles are large and swollen underneath his tunic, and sweat drips down from his brow despite the relative coolness of the early evening air in the Gold Forest of southeast Skyrim. His arms raise above his head, his eyes never leaving the axe's latest victim. The axe comes down with great force and a strained grunt from Buliwyf, and the sound of the impact echoes through the forest, followed by the tell-tale sounds of creaking wood.
"Timber!" Buliwyf cries out to the other lumberjacks.
The axe comes to rest on the Nord's shoulder, a smile on his face, as he watches the mighty tree fall almost in slow motion to the ground, the impact shaking the leaves of the nearby trees. There are shouts of celebration from the others when it lands, a sort-of ritual of thanks that a tree was felled without loss of life or limb.
"I didn't think that one would ever come down," comments Bjarn with a slap on Builwyf's back.
Buliwyf merely grins through his braided red beard without looking away from the felled tree. "And I told you it would be felled before nightfall. Which reminds me..."
"Yes, yes..." Bjarn says with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I will buy the ale for the crew tonight. Just make sure they aren't too thirsty, or my coin purse will revolt more than the Stormcloaks!"
Buliwyf laughs. "Of course, Bjarn. I'll tell them right now." He makes his way towards the felled tree, where his crew is already working to chop it into 5 meter logs. "Hey, good news, fellas! Drinks are on Bjarn tonight! Work up that thirst! We have to get this tree chopped and back to Riften before dark! Let's do it!" There are cheers at the news of free drinks, and a groan from Bjarn, as they get to work.
The hours pass as the sun sets, and the moons rise in the clear skies of Skyrim. Songs are sung all throughout the evening, mostly to keep time with their axe swings. The mighty tree is cleaned of branches and chopped into six good 5-meter logs, and each log is harnessed to a powerful horse with strong ropes and hooks to be dragged back to Riften.
"They are lucky down in Riverwood," comments Bjarn as they walk with the horses. "The river flows north towards Whiterun from there, so they only need to cut the lumber at the mill then toss it in the river, where a crew near Whiterun will collect it."
Buliwyf rolls his eyes. "So I have heard. From you. Everyday. For two weeks." He scoffs with a dismissive hand. "If you love Riverwood so much, go talk to Lod and Gertrude about working for them."
"Now, now, you know I can't do that!" Bjarn says defensively. "I have my home here in the Rift, and since Helgen was destroyed, the only way there would be to travel all the way around the Throat of the World. It's not possible."
"You have a really strange talent of telling people things they already know...because you already told them before," chides Buliwyf with a chuckle. "You should take up reading at home. You might learn something new to talk about."
"You know reading is...difficult for me," Bjarn shoots back. "Besides, who among us has time to read with all these trees to fell?"
The mirth leaves Buliwyf's face and his gaze goes distant. "...I do," he says in a tense whisper, as if saying those words physically hurt him.
Bjarn immediately realizes his mistake. "Forgive me, Buliwyf. I didn't think-"
"No," Buliwyf cuts him off. "No, you did not."
Bjarn falls silent into an awkward silence after that, but it doesn't last long as Riften comes into view. The capital of the Rift stands like a beacon of light and civilization along the pristine waters of Lake Honrich. The lake is teeming with fish and the forest with game and flora and lumber. The city boasts a thriving marketplace and everything one needs to survive.
But Buliwyf knows better. They all know better.
Buliwyf handles the sale of the lumber, getting a fair better deal on it than he was expecting from the Black-Briars. They must really want that extension on their mansion quickly. But his dealings with them are done; the carpenters can take it from here. Once the men get their pay for the day, they all head to the Bee and Barb with a forlorn-looking Bjarn, grumbling something about "never making bets like that again."
But Buliwyf does not join them. Free Black-Briar mead is not that appealing to him tonight. Instead, he heads out of the city gate with a nod to the guards and makes his way to his small home not far south of the city. The door opens with a creak and, like every night before, he places his axe just inside. After starting up the fire in the hearth, he sits down at his table, takes off his boots, then his sweaty shirt and trousers, and casts them to the floor beside his bed to be cleaned later. Taking a cloth and dipping it in the water basin near the hearth, he wipes down his massive body, nearly seven feet of muscle from a life of toil in the forests. Once he is free of sweat, dirt, and sawdust, he washes his clothes in the basin and hangs them to dry near the now-roaring hearth.
After a bit of bread and a bowl of venison stew from the pot, chased with several swigs of Cyrodillc brandy, he grabs his closed copy of Lost Legends and lays down in his bed against the far wall. He runs his fingers over the cover of the small book, his eyes distant as memories play out of him reading this book over and over again to...
...to...
His eyes look over to the far side of his small home. There, against the wall, is a small bed, neatly made. Two small boots sit beside it, and a cloth doll sits upon the pillow. He sighs heavily, and turns his gaze to the foot of his own bed, where a chair rests, a chair he never sits in. Carefully folded is a dress of fine cloth, a brilliant shade of blue, and a pair of nicely-made boots sit next to it on the floor. Atop the folded dress lay two pieces of jewelry: a golden ring and an amulet of Mara.
A heavy silence fills the room, just like last night, and the night before, and the night before that. And just like all those nights, he says the same thing into air of his empty home.
"...Until Sovengarde."
With a deep breath and stifled tears, he opens the book and begins to read.