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.