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.