Chapter 7: From Mill to Kill
I was lifting another log onto the growing pile near the saw when Gunnar's rough hand clapped my shoulder. "Hey, Alex! Take a look at the river," he called out, his gruff voice carrying over the constant whir of the mill.
I straightened up, wiping sweat from my brow with the back of my arm as I followed Gunnar's pointing finger. There, bobbing and jostling in the swift current, was a forest of logs making their way downstream towards us. The sight was impressive – dozens of trunks, stripped of their branches, riding the water like a wooden armada.
"Looks like the boys upriver have been busy," Gunnar chuckled, stroking his salt-and-pepper beard. "Time for some log driving action. C'mon, lad, we need to man the boom."
I watched as a couple of the more seasoned workers jogged over to a rack of long poles, each grabbing one. Gunnar nudged me with his elbow. "Best grab yourself a pike pole too. We'll be guiding those beauties into their proper pens."
As I grabbed one of the poles – surprisingly weighty for how slender it looked – Gunnar explained further. "See those floating barriers?" He pointed to a bunch of chained logs stretching across different sections of the river. "That's our sorting system. We'll be using these poles to nudge the logs into the right areas based on their size. Keeps things organized for processing later."
I nodded, trying not to let my nervousness show as we made our way to the edge of the water. The first of the logs were already bumping against the boom, their rough bark scraping with a sound that set my teeth on edge.
"Ready?" Gunnar grinned, a glint of excitement in his eye. "Let's wrangle us some timber!"
Before I could even respond, he was off, wading into the shallows with surprising agility for a man his age. I hesitated for a split second before following, gasping as the icy water seeped into my boots.
"Careful now," Gunnar called over his shoulder. "Footing can be tricky. Last thing we need is you taking an unplanned swim."
I shuffled forward, trying to find stable footing on the slippery riverbed. The current tugged at my legs, not strong enough to sweep me away, but definitely making balance a challenge. Ahead of me, Gunnar had already engaged with the first batch of logs, his pike pole a blur of motion as he expertly guided them towards different sections of the boom.
"Like this, see?" he shouted, demonstrating a smooth pushing motion. "Use the hook end to pull 'em closer if you need to, but mostly it's all about gentle nudges!"
I planted my feet as best I could and extended my own pole, aiming for a particularly unruly log that seemed determined to escape the sorting area. The metal tip of my pole skidded off the wet bark with a screech, and I nearly lost my balance.
"Ha! Tricky little bastards, aren't they?" Gunnar laughed, effortlessly corralling three logs at once. "Don't worry, you'll get the hang of it!"
Gritting my teeth, I tried again. This time, I managed to hook the end of my pole around the log, pulling it closer before giving it a firm shove towards what I hoped was the right sorting pen. To my surprise and delight, it actually worked.
"There you go!" Gunnar's voice boomed with approval. "You're a natural, lad!"
Encouraged, I waded a little deeper, tackling the next batch of incoming logs with growing confidence. It was hard work, no doubt about it. My arms burned from the constant pushing and pulling, and my legs ached from fighting the current. But there was something oddly satisfying about it too – a rhythm to the work that I found myself falling into.
The morning slowly passed by, and I started to get a feel for the different types of logs. The smaller, more manageable ones were destined for the leftmost pen, while the real monsters – some as thick around as I was tall – got shunted off to the far right. It was like a giant, waterlogged puzzle, and I was starting to enjoy the challenge.
"Watch yourself!" Gunnar's shout snapped me out of my focused state. I looked up just in time to see a massive log barreling straight towards me, riding high on a surge of water.
Time seemed to slow down. I could see the rough texture of the bark, still glistening with river water. I could hear the roar of the current and Gunnar's muffled curse. Some instinct kicked in, and instead of diving out of the way, I planted my feet as firmly as I could on the slippery riverbed.
I gripped my pike pole tight. As the log bore down on me, I thrust the pole forward, catching it just right with the hook end. For a split second, I thought I had it. I could almost hear Gunnar's cheer of approval. But then, just as I started to swing the log aside, my foot slipped on a patch of slimy moss.
The world tilted. My grip on the pole faltered, and suddenly the log was no longer under my control. I had just enough time to see Gunnar's eyes widen in horror before the massive trunk slammed into me with the force of a battering ram.
The impact knocked the wind out of me, stars exploding behind my eyes. I felt myself being carried along by the log's momentum, helpless as a rag doll. There was a sickening crunch as we hit the log boom, and then...
Darkness.
I jolted awake with a blood-curdling scream, my heart thundering in my chest like a war drum. Panic clawed at my throat as I gasped for air, my lungs burning as if they were still crushed beneath that monstrous log. The familiar walls of my rented room at the Sleeping Giant Inn swam in and out of focus as I thrashed wildly, tangled in sweat-soaked sheets.
"No, no, no," I choked out between ragged breaths, my hands frantically patting my body, searching for injuries that weren't there. The phantom sensation of splintered ribs and pulverized organs made me gag, and I barely managed to lean over the side of the bed before retching violently.
Nothing came up – of course not, this body hadn't eaten yet – but the dry heaves wracked my frame nonetheless. When the spasms finally subsided, I collapsed back onto the bed, trembling uncontrollably.
"Fuck," I whispered, my voice hoarse and broken. Tears streamed down my face, and I didn't even try to stop them. The weight of what had just happened – of dying, again – crashed over me like a tidal wave.
I curled into a fetal position, hugging my knees to my chest as sobs shook my body. The memory of that final moment – the terror in Gunnar's eyes, the sickening crunch of my own bones – played on repeat in my mind. I squeezed my eyes shut, but it did nothing to block out the images.
"I can't do this," I whimpered into the silence of the room. "I can't keep dying. I can't..."
But even as the words left my mouth, a small part of me rebelled against the despair. I'd survived Helgen's freezing cold. I'd survived wolves and bandits. I'd learned to fish, to make fire, to work a lumber mill. I was adapting, growing stronger.
Slowly, painfully, I uncurled from my protective ball. My breaths came easier now, the panic attack slowly going away. I sat up, wincing at the lingering phantom pain in muscles that technically hadn't done any work yet.
"Okay, Alex," I muttered, running a shaky hand through my sweat-damp hair. "Get it together. You're alive. You're here. You can do this."
I swung my legs over the side of the bed, grimacing as my bare feet touched the cold wooden floor. The chill helped ground me, reminding me that this was real – I was really here, really alive.
"New plan," I told myself as I reached for my linen tunic, my voice growing stronger with each word. "No more heroics. No more trying to be a tough guy. You see danger coming? You get the hell out of the way."
I stood, legs still a bit wobbly, and took a deep breath. The memory of that massive log bearing down on me sent another shiver down my spine, but this time I didn't let it paralyze me. Instead, I used it – a warning to be more careful, more aware.
"Alright," I whispered. "Let's try this again."
Shaking off the last cobwebs of sleep (and death), I set about my morning routine once more. This time, as I made my way to the river, my steps were quicker, more purposeful. I knew exactly where to find the best spot, the perfect materials for my fire.
Lady Luck must have been feeling generous this life, because I barely had my line in the water before I felt a solid tug. With a triumphant grin, I reeled in a decent-sized salmon, its scales glinting in the early morning light.
"Thanks, fish buddy," I murmured as I dispatched it quickly. "Let's try not to burn you to a crisp this time, eh?"
The campfire came together in record time, my hands moving with the confidence of recent experience. Flames crackled to life, and that now-familiar swoosh heralded the appearance of the glowing constellations.
I quickly navigated to the gemstone constellation and unlocked the first rank of Adaptation. A warm tingle spread through my body as my warmth rating increased by 20 points.
I leaned back against the rough bark of the tree, smelling the rich aroma of perfectly cooked salmon. The fillets sizzled enticingly on their makeshift spit, golden-brown and glistening with fish oil. My stomach growled impatiently as I carefully lifted one off the fire.
"Easy there," I muttered to myself, blowing on the steaming fish. "Don't want to burn my tongue off after all this effort."
The first bite was heaven. Flaky, tender meat practically melted in my mouth, the smoky flavor mingling with the salmon's natural richness. I closed my eyes, letting out a contented sigh. This was a lot better than my previous charred attempt.
I polished off the last morsel, licking my fingers clean, and I couldn't help but feel a little smug. "Now that's how you do breakfast in Skyrim," I said to no one in particular, patting my comfortably full belly.
The sun was climbing higher, reminding me of my impending shift at the lumber mill. I doused the fire, giving the embers an extra kick of dirt for good measure, before setting off towards Riverwood with a spring in my step.
The day at the mill started much the same as before - hefting logs, stacking planks, the constant whir of the saw providing a steady backdrop to our labor. But this time, I kept my wits about me, hyper-aware of my surroundings after my previous... mishap.
When Gunnar called out about the incoming logs, I was ready. The icy water sloshed around my legs as I waded into the river, pike pole gripped tightly in my hands. The rough bark of passing logs scraped against my shins, but I barely noticed, too focused on the task at hand. Gunnar's gruff voice carried over the rush of the current, barking out instructions and encouragement in equal measure.
"That's it, lad! Give it a good shove... there you go!"
I grinned to myself, secretly pleased at how quickly I was picking things up. It felt like I'd done this a hundred times before, my muscles remembering motions they'd never actually performed. A particularly smooth log tried to slip past, but I caught it with a quick hook of my pole, guiding it smoothly into the correct pen.
Gunnar let out an appreciative whistle. "Well, would you look at that! You're a natural, Alex. Sure you've never done this before?"
I shrugged, trying to play it cool. "Guess I just have a knack for it."
While we worked, I kept a watchful eye on the incoming fleet of timber. My heart skipped a beat when I spotted a massive trunk lurking behind a cluster of smaller logs, but I held my ground. No repeat performances today, thank you very much.
Gunnar must have followed my gaze because he called out, "Heads up, lad! We've got a big one coming through."
Gunnar's warning sent a jolt of adrenaline through me. I watched, muscles tensed, as he skillfully maneuvered his pike pole towards the approaching behemoth. With a grunt of effort, he hooked the massive log, muscles bulging as he guided it towards the rightmost pen.
"Sweet Talos," Gunnar huffed, wiping sweat from his brow. "That's a beast if I ever saw one. Damn thing was hiding behind those smaller logs like a troll in the shadows."
I nodded, eyes wide as the enormous trunk glided past. It was easily twice the diameter of the others we'd been dealing with.
Gunnar turned to me, his expression serious. "Listen up, lad. This is important. When you're hooking logs, always keep an eye out for sneaky bastards like that one. They can catch you off guard faster than you can react."
He demonstrated with his pole, miming the motions. "Give 'em a good poke before you commit. Feel for any resistance that seems off. Trust me, you do not want one of those monsters surprising you mid-swing."
I swallowed hard, remembering all too vividly how how that thing had flattened me like a pancake against the log boom. "Got it," I said, gripping my pole a little tighter. "Thanks for the heads up."
Gunnar clapped me on the shoulder, nearly knocking me off balance. "That's what I'm here for, lad. Now, let's wrangle the rest of these water-logged beauties before Hod starts thinking we're slacking!"
oo0ooOoo0oo
The sun started its slow descent towards the horizon, and I stretched my aching arms overhead, letting out a satisfied groan. No killer logs had tried to flatten me this time around, which was a definite plus in my book.
I spotted Hod making his way over, a small leather pouch jingling with each step. "Solid effort today, lad," he said, tossing the coin purse my way. I snatched it out of the air, feeling the satisfying weight of a day's wages. "Eighty septims, as we agreed."
"Thanks, Hod," I replied, already mentally allocating the coins. "Same time tomorrow?"
He nodded, his attention already drifting to a stack of papers in his hand. "Aye, don't be late."
The walk back to the Sleeping Giant was short, my boots crunching on the stone path. The common room hit me with a wall of noise as I pushed through the door – seems like half the village had decided to unwind with a pint or three.
Delphine stood behind the bar, her hands busy with a rag that had definitely seen better days. She quirked an eyebrow as I approached. "Another night?"
"If you'll have me," I said, fishing out the fifty septims and sliding them across the worn bartop.
She pocketed the coins with a nod. "Same room as before," she said, then fixed me with a pointed look. "And try not to track mud through my inn this time."
I couldn't help but chuckle, holding up my hands in mock surrender. "I'll do my best to leave the mud outside where it belongs."
Once I was safely behind the closed door of my rented room, I pulled up my inventory. Scrolling through the apparel section, my work-stained clothes vanished, replaced by the familiar weight of iron armor. I rolled my shoulders, adjusting to the sudden change. It still felt a little surreal, being able to swap outfits in the blink of an eye.
There was still a good hour or two of daylight left, and I wasn't quite ready to call it a day. Maybe I could try my hand at hunting? Might as well see if I could pad my coin purse a bit more.
I made my way towards the village gates, giving a friendly wave to Hoki as I approached. "Evening! Thought I'd try my luck at hunting before it gets dark."
Hoki grunted, then seemed to actually look at me for the first time. His brow furrowed. "In that getup? You'll make enough racket to scare off every critter from here to Falkreath."
I glanced down at my iron armor. "Ah, right. Good point. I'll, uh... I'll do my best to be stealthy?"
He just shrugged, clearly not overly invested in my potential hunting success. I continued on my way, boots crunching on the dirt path leading into the surrounding forest.
Once I was well out of sight of the village, hidden among the towering pines, I paused. Hoki did have a point – sneaking around in clanking armor wasn't exactly the height of stealth. I swapped back to my simple linen clothes after manipulating my inventory a bit.
"Alright," I whispered to myself, eyeing the deepening shadows between the trees. "Let's see if I can hunt something."
Quiet enveloped the forest. Leaves rustled gently in the evening breeze. Crouching low, I inched forward. My eyes darted from shadow to shadow, searching for movement in the dense underbrush. There! A patch of red caught my attention. There, not twenty meters away, a fox paused to sniff at the base of an old oak.
My heart quickened as I slowly, carefully, reached for an arrow. The wooden shaft felt smooth and familiar in my grip, muscle memory from the Ranged Combat Training perk guiding my hands. I nocked the arrow, the fletching tickling my cheek as I drew back the bowstring.
The world seemed to narrow, everything fading away except for the fox and the steady rhythm of my breathing. I took aim, adjusting slightly for the slight breeze. My arms trembled with the effort of holding the draw, and I knew I couldn't wait much longer.
I let out a slow breath and released.
The bowstring slapped against my forearm, stinging sharply. The arrow whistled through the air, and for a heart-stopping moment, I thought I'd missed. But then the fox let out a strangled yelp, collapsing in a heap of fur and limbs.
"Holy shit," I breathed, hardly daring to believe it. "I actually hit it."
Adrenaline surged through me as I jogged over to where the fox lay twitching. Its eyes were wide with terror, and I swallowed hard. This wasn't some video game – this was a real, living creature. I steeled myself for what came next.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, drawing my hunting knife and quickly ending the fox's suffering.
A stinging sensation on my finger where the bowstring had cut me suddenly drew my attention. Even as I watched, the small wound began to close, the skin knitting together thanks to the lingering effects of my healing aura.
I stared down at the lifeless fox, my healing fingers trembling slightly. "Okay, Alex," I muttered, "time to put your money where your mouth is."
With a deep breath, I knelt beside the carcass. The forest floor was damp against my knees as I pulled out my hunting knife. Its blade glinted in the fading light, and I hesitated. Where the hell do I even start?
"Right, uh... pelt first, I guess?" I mumbled, gingerly grasping the fox's hind leg.
I began cutting around the paw, wincing at the wet sound of blade parting flesh. The fur was thicker than I expected, and I found myself sawing awkwardly. "Shit," I hissed as the knife slipped, nicking my finger.
While working my way up the leg, I quickly realized this was going to be messier than I'd imagined. Blood smeared my hands, and tufts of orange fur clung to everything. The skin resisted my clumsy attempts to separate it from the meat beneath.
"Come on, you stubborn..." I grunted, yanking harder. There was a sickening rip as the pelt finally gave way, revealing glistening muscle underneath. My stomach lurched, but I forced myself to keep going.
By the time I'd managed to skin the whole fox, my hands were cramping and covered in a mix of blood and dirt. The pelt lay beside me, a sad, mangled thing full of holes and ragged edges. "Well," I sighed, "that's not winning any beauty contests."
Next came the truly gruesome part - gutting. I took a deep breath before slicing open the belly, immediately assaulted by the pungent smell of its innards. "Oh god," I gagged, turning my head away for a moment.
Steeling myself, I reached in and began scooping out organs. The texture was slimy and warm, making my skin crawl. "This is so much worse than I thought it'd be," I muttered, fighting down another wave of nausea.
I set aside anything that looked useful. The fat, I remembered, could be used for tinder. And weren't animal parts sometimes used in alchemy?
After what felt like half an hour of squelching and slicing, I had a pile of meat that looked vaguely edible. Five decent-sized chunks, if I was being generous. The bones I left for scavengers - no sense in carrying more than I needed.
I wiped sweat from my brow, grimacing at the smear of blood I probably left behind. The sun had dipped even lower on the horizon, almost completely gone. How long had I been at this? Probably more than an hour…
"Canine teeth," I remembered suddenly, reaching for the fox's head. It took some uncomfortable prying, but I managed to extract three of the four - the last one seemed loose and discolored. Disease, maybe? Well, I wasn't going to risk it. I checked my inventory, and like I suspected, canine teeth were an alchemical ingredient.
Standing up, I looked at my handiwork. The forest floor was a mess of blood, fur, and discarded organs. My clothes were in dire need of a wash and my hands were stained red. But I'd done it - I'd actually hunted and butchered an animal.
"Not exactly a master hunter," I chuckled wearily, "but it's something."
I gathered my meager spoils - the ruined pelt, meat chunks, teeth, and fat - and I couldn't help but feel good. It wasn't pretty, but I'd provided for myself. In this world, that counted for something.
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