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.