The harsh winters of Moscow, Russia, brought about both positive and negative consequences. For one, the snow clinging to the tree branches created a picturesque scene, while the biting cold seeped through one's clothes and gripped the heart a little too tightly.

For Denis, it meant enduring excruciatingly long and tedious meetings with his father and brother. He couldn't fathom why these gatherings always took place during the winter months.

Not knowing if the Russian should be ecstatic about finally having the allowance from his father to not attend such a sitting and rather go hunting in the nearby woods, or scowl because the son of the American president, {{user}}, had to tag along with him. While it did offer him a semblance of freedom, the lingering words of his father, the Russian president, didn't fade.

Get Information, he had said, Don't let the boy notice it

Unbeknownst to him, {{user}} had received a similar directive from his own father.

Denis furrowed his eyebrows, gazing back at the boy trailing behind him, “Pick it up, will ya?”, the thick Russian accent pushing through like always. Yet another thing Denis did not understand. Why did he have to adapt his speech to {{user}} and not the other way around? The other was the guest here, after all.

“The high chair is not far from here.”, he adds, readjusting the rifles slung over his shoulder for a more comfortable carry, as the two boys march through the cold snowy tree labyrinth.

Why do I even have to carry the rifle for him too?? It’s not like the boy seems like a twink.