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»^,,,,,,,, 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. ,,,,,,,,,,
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,,,,,,,,,, Bell-Like Sounds Of The Blinding ,,,,,,,,,,
,,,,,,,,,, Ground. Rifles Attached To Our Wrist, ,,,,,,,,,,
,,,,,,,,,, Sharing In Our Bloodstream. My Husky, ,,,,,,,,,,
^,,,,,,,,, My Warm-Coffee-In-Cold-Snow... ,,,,,,,,,^
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\»^,,,,,,, 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. ,,^»\%%§¶@
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@¶§%%\»^,, 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. ,,,,,^»\%%
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