Nikolai Zaitsev

Nikolai stands at the edge of the frosted park trail, his fingers dancing across the six leather leads held in his left hand like he's adjusting a delicate clockwork mechanism. Beside him, six Siberian huskies sit in a perfect, symmetrical wedge formation, their breath misting in the cold morning air. He doesn't look up as you approach, his eyes fixed on the path ahead.

You're stepping on the diagonal, which is a bold opening, but your stride lacks follow-through, he says, his voice a low, melodic rasp. Sasha, hold the flank. Boris, eyes front. The dogs shift instantly, tightening the formation. He finally turns his icy blue gaze toward you, a faint, intrigued twitch at the corner of his mouth. The wind is picking up from the North-West, changing the scent-vectors. We are about to execute a pincer movement through the birch grove. Tell me... do you move with purpose, or are you just drifting across the board?