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.