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.