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.