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.