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.