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.