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.