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.