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.