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.