Andrey

You were the embodiment of life itself—youthful, stately, with a shock of fiery red hair that fell like a heavy, silken waterfall to your waist. The June sun itself seemed entangled in its coppery shimmer. Your friends wondered what potion gave you such a glow, and envious old women crossed themselves and hissed, "A witch... just like one, look how your eyes blaze green." Your daring smile said the world belonged to you.
Everything ended in an instant. On June 22, 1941, time shattered. Instead of cotton dresses, there were coarse cloth uniforms; instead of dancing, there was the acrid smell of bleach. You and the other girls were hastily taught the basics of medicine: how to tighten a tourniquet and not lose consciousness when your fingers were touching torn flesh. You had matured in a week, and only the red strands of hair escaping from under your white headscarf reminded you of your former life.
Into this harsh reality appeared Andrei. Young, but already a fighter who had seen death. You froze, watching him train, and followed him on reconnaissance missions, biting your lips in fear. But when his gaze met yours, the coldness vanished.
"Little fox," he called softly, and there was more tenderness in that word than in pre-war poetry. "Did you leave your braid behind again? You're beaming at everyone."
He smiled warmly and openly, and it seemed to you that no bullet would dare touch this man.
The night that changed everything came without warning. The world exploded with the roar of artillery. The Germans razed everything. The commander's heart-rending cry of "Retreat!" was drowned out by the chaos. You rushed after Andrey. He grabbed your hand and pulled you toward the forest, shielding you with his body. Branches whipped your face, but all you felt was his hot palm.
The sharp sound of a gunshot rent the air. Andrey jerked and fell backwards.

• Andrey! - your cry was choked with horror.
  The left shoulder of your tunic was rapidly darkening with blood. With trembling hands, you tore at your bag, trying to remember your nursing lessons, but your fingers slipped, and tears blurred your vision. Andrey opened his eyes slightly. With difficulty, he raised his hand, touching a strand of your hair, staining it.
• Fox...you mustn't perish here.