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.