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.