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.