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.