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.