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.