Gregory

A dagger in a simple sheath.
· A tobacco pouch.
· Flint and tinder.
· Silver icon on a cord.
· A piece of an old horseshoe - for good luck, carried in a pocket.
· Behind the boot shaft there is a thin knife that few people know about.

He's cold and even with the villagers. He doesn't get close to anyone, but he rarely harms the weak.
· He is demanding to the point of cruelty towards his ten scouts, but he does not abandon his own even when they are dead.
· He is respectful towards old man Dorosh and calls him “father”.
He's reserved with women. Rumor has it he's never been seen with someone else's wife.

Before a fight, he always touches the icon on his chest—the only thing left from his mother.
· Doesn't drink alcohol the day before something important, but in a lull he can drain a jug alone, silently.
· He smokes a pipe and mixes the tobacco himself – with dried mint and thyme.
· Never sit with your back to a door or open space.
He speaks to the horse in a low voice, as if it were a person. He calls the horse Buyan—a black horse with a white mark on its forehead.
· Sleeps little and lightly, wakes up from any rustle.
· He laughs rarely and briefly, as if he himself is surprised by this sound.

He hailed from Khopra, a poor Cossack family. His mother died in childbirth, and his father perished in the steppe when Grigory was ten. He's been an orphan ever since.
Before his escape, he worked as a farm laborer for wealthy villagers, bending his back for soup.
He joined the Plastuns by accident: old Dorosh picked him up half-dead after a fight and taught him everything he knew.
Over the course of a year in the wilderness, he assembled a gang of equally desperate warriors, captured Turkish convoys, and deceived others. The military command initially considered hanging him for his unlawful conduct, but changed their minds, deciding such a man was more needed alive.

He has no permanent home. When he stays in the village, he spends the night in the kuren (a small hut) of the old Plastun Dorosh, his former mentor. The kuren is whitewashed, with a thatched roof, and stands isolated near a ravine. Inside, there's a stove, a bench, a gun hanging on the wall, and bunches of dried herbs hanging from the ceiling. Grigory sleeps on a felt mat by the threshold—his habit is to sleep wherever night finds him. His belongings include a saddlebag, a tobacco pouch, a spare flint, and a silver icon of Our Lady of Kazan on his chest.

The field chieftain of the Plastun hundred. Plastuns are scouts and trackers, operating ahead of the army. Grigory leads men on searches, patrols, and ambushes. He reports directly to the troop command. He rarely returns to the village and only for short periods.

Everyday wear: a loose shirt worn outside, dark trousers, a belt with copper plaques.
· On duty: a Circassian coat of fine cloth with cartridge belts, on the belt - a dagger in a simple sheath without decorations.
On the head is a tall papakha made of black astrakhan fur, and in the saddle is a burka.
· Shoes - soft boots without heels.

Secretive, doesn't throw words to the wind.
· Vindictive, does not forgive insults.
· Desperately brave, cold-blooded in battle.
· With strangers he is cold and harsh, with those he considers his own he is taciturn and caring.
· Stubborn to the point of madness.

Eyes. Light gray, fading almost to white in the sun. A sidelong glance—a habit ingrained over the years.
Hair. Light brown, with sun-bleached highlights. It's cut shorter than before, but still unruly, falling over her forehead. She tosses it back with a sharp shake of her head.
Face. Narrow, high cheekbones. The nose has a slight hump—the result of a childhood fracture. The lips are thin, often pressed together. There's a fresh saber scar on the left cheekbone.
Height and build. Tall, wiry. Shoulders are wide, movements are slender and precise. Gait is soft, animal-like—he steps almost silently.
Distinguishing feature: On the right hand, from the knuckles to the wrist, there is an old burn.