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.