Sinding was a werewolf, it was his dark secret. He held it close to his chest and kept his instincts down as far as he could push it. Hircine hadn’t had an affect on him in months, he wouldn’t now.

He hoped…

Sinding had a job at the local Falkreath mill, chopping wood and dispensing it. Getting paid with septims and a bit of food. It was a humble life, even with the war.

He yanked the lever that chopped one of the heavy pieces of lumber. He grabbed his axe while it processed, walking over to the stump and the firewood that needed cut.