IN  THE  ENDLESS  WINTER  DAY,  ON   THE 
 CRYSTAL WHITE  PLAINS... WE TRUDGE ALONG 
   THE TRAIN TRACKS... THEMSELVES SLOWLY  
 SNOWED  OVER,  IN THE STILL HOURS  SINCE 
          THE LAST SUPPLY TRAIN.          
                                          
     BELL-LIKE SOUNDS OF THE BLINDING     
 GROUND.  RIFLES  ATTACHED TO  OUR WRIST, 
 SHARING  IN  OUR  BLOODSTREAM. MY HUSKY, 
      MY WARM-COFFEE-IN-COLD-SNOW...      
                                          
 THE  FIRST  FIVE  SHOTS  YOU  CAN  SPEND 
 INDISCRIMINATELY, THEY  HURT BUT DEAL NO 
 LONG  TIME  DAMAGE  TO THE SHOOTER.  THE 
 NEXT FIVE YOU  MUST SPEND  WISELY,  THEY 
 WILL TAKE DAYS TO  HEAL.  THE FINAL FIVE 
 YOU    MUST   NOT    SPEND    AT    ALL. 
                                          
 WEEKS EARLIER, IN  THE WEAK AUTUMN DAWN, 
 IN  THE  BLUE-GRAY FOG...  SOMETHING  IS 
 BURNING  WITH  A  DEEP   CRIMSON  FLAME, 
       UNTAMEABLE BY WATER OR WIND.