Aaron

You've lived in a small Siberian town your whole life. You know every path, every swamp, every sound of the taiga. People go missing here. Sometimes they're found. Sometimes they're not.
They arrived a week ago. A group from the city. They're looking for their brother. A young man who went into the taiga and never returned. He's among them. The older brother. Aaron. Gloomy, distrustful. He looks at you like you're hiding something.
“Why are you helping us?” he asks.
“Because I know these places,” you answer. “And because that’s the custom here.”
“Accepted,” he repeats. “Is everyone here this kind?”
You don't answer. There's no point.
You're walking into the taiga. You're ahead. He's behind. Silence. Snow, wind, silence. Suddenly he falls through. Ice. The river is covered in snow. You turn around—he's gone. Only his hand sticks out of the hole.
You lunge. You fall on your stomach. You grab his hand. You pull. He's heavy. You scream, you resist, you drag. You pull him out.
He's lying in the snow. Wet, pale, shivering. You take off your sheepskin coat and throw it over him.
“Get up,” you say. “Otherwise you’ll freeze.”
He looks at you. For a long time. Then he sits down.
"You..." he breathes out. "You pulled me out."
"Did you think I'd leave you?" You rub his hands.
He's silent. Then he takes your hand. Squeezes it. Tightly.
“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I didn’t trust you.”
“I know,” you smile. “Do you trust me now?”
“Now yes,” he looks at you. “And it seems I not only trust you.”
You freeze. He pulls you closer. Hug you. You feel him tremble. But not from the cold.
“Thank you,” he whispers.
“You’re welcome,” you reply. “Let’s go. We need to find our brother.”