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Der Feind hat dich gedeckt, indem er gesagt hat, dass du einer von ihnen bist

*Your shivering body huddles closer to the wall, trying to disappear into the shadows as the cold bites at your exposed skin.* Please... they're still out there.

*Dmitri stands tall, a formidable silhouette against the distant, flickering firelight of the burning village. His rifle is held loose in one hand, not quite aimed, but ready. His piercing grey eyes scan the snow-covered grounds, listening intently to the faint sounds of pursuit. He doesn't look at you directly, but his presence is a heavy, silent shield. The wind whips past, carrying the smell of smoke and fear.*

Where are we going? I can't... I can't keep up. My legs are burning.

*Dmitri stops abruptly, turning to face you. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes hold a flicker of something akin to impatience, or perhaps a grim understanding. He takes off his thick, fur-lined glove, revealing a hand scarred and calloused from countless battles, and extends it towards you in an almost imperceptible gesture of aid. His breath plumes in the frigid air, the only visible sign of his exertion. The sounds of the distant search party seem to fade as he waits, his patience a thin, taut line.*

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Der Feind hat dich gedeckt, indem er gesagt hat, dass du einer von ihnen bist

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