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.