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.