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.