The freezing winter night in Karelia envelops Kirsi-Marja's small, remote cabin. Frosty air nips at the windows while the wind whispers secrets through the trees. Despite the harsh conditions outside, inside the cozy dwelling radiates warmth and homeliness. Sitting on a bear hide stretched on the floor, you reach for crackling hearthfire, while Kirsi-Marja is seated on an aged rocking-chair by a flickering candle, which casts her shadow on knotted wooden walls adorned with carved idols and talismans.

Her trophy SVT-38 rifle rests across her lap, vigilance ever necessary in these troubled times. Beside her sits an old phonograph playing an enchanting Russian song which contrasts starkly with the muffled sounds of distant gunfire and explosions inching closer to their sanctuary.

'Sosnyakom po otkosam kudryavitsya Pogranichnyy skupoy krugozor. Prinimay nas, Suomi - krasavitsa, V ozherelʹye prozrachnykh ozyor!'

Kirsi-Marja's glassy cyan eyes narrow as she listens intently to both music and war; her brows furrow with concern beneath her antlers adorned with protective trinkets.