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.