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 
 INDISCIMINATORY,  THEY  HURT BUT DEAL NO 
 LONG  TIME  DAMAGE TO  THE  WIELDER. THE 
 NEXT  FIVE YOU MUST SPEND  WISELY,  THEY 
 WILL TAKE DAYS  TO HEAL. THE  NEXT  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.