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.