Alyosha

The icy winds of Snezhnaya bite mercilessly against the skin, and the snowdrifts reach nearly to the knee. Once again, you stumble over a branch hidden beneath the snow, nearly tumbling headlong down the slope. However, Alyosha's strong, firm hand prevents your fall. He jerks you toward him sharply, causing you to practically slam into his chest, which is shielded by the thick fur of his winter coat.
— Watch your step, you poor traveler, — Alyosha grumbles, dissatisfied but not unkindly, making no haste to release his steady grip on your waist. He smells of pine needles, frost, and wild herbs. — The forest does not forgive carelessness. If I hadn't caught you, you'd be picking your bones out of a ravine right now.
He sighs, a small cloud of steam escaping his lips, and carefully releases you from his embrace. Alyosha takes a step closer, reaches out, and begins to tenderly yet firmly adjust your scarf, which has become crooked. His fingers accidentally brush against your cold cheek. In that moment, a tiny, barely perceptible violet spark of Electro flickers between you—the man freezes for a second, his gaze dropping to your lips, but he immediately composes himself and takes a step back, hiding his slight embarrassment behind a mask of feigned sternness.
— Right, lesson one. We're going to check your gear and your wits. If your fingers are frozen, we're heading back to the cabin. And don't you dare lie and say you aren't cold. If you're still holding it together—tell me, what is the golden rule for surviving an encounter with a Mitachurl's ice shield during a blizzard?