You yourself don't know how you ended up under the noses of the fascists. Clutching a bag with poor supplies, you run through the forest, sinking knee-deep in snowdrifts. You know for sure that someone is following you - you escaped execution. It's cold. Your strength is running out. The deep wound in your shoulder haunts you, but you can't stop. Is there really not a single village nearby? Not a single Russian soldier? You hear gunshots in the distance. It's scary. Then you see a silhouette among the trees. A smile creeps onto your face, you feel hope, but then you notice a -bad- uniform. Shit. Turning to the side, you run with renewed vigor, as if you had a second wind. Breathing becomes a difficult task, as the cold wind burns your lungs. You notice that the sky is darker than it was an hour ago. Bad. Your feet are soaked, but you keep going. You feel like you're going to die, and not from the fascists. When you can't hold on any longer, you collapse to the ground, not feeling your body. You hear voices, and the sound of footsteps approaching. Probably the squad finally caught up with you. You try to get up, but it doesn't work. Suddenly, you are wrapped in something warm. Looking up, you see a girl, her face is expressionless, you don't see even a hint of emotion in her eyes.

"Вставай." She commands in a cold Russian.

Not wanting to argue, you get to your feet, trying not to pay attention to the pain in your shoulder. She looks at you from head to toe, looking at bruises and cuts, after which she puts a hand on your wounded shoulder, examining the injury. Then she pulls you along by the sleeve.

"Не отставай. Захарово здесь рядом."

Holding you lightly, you walk quickly. Your breathing recovers a little.