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.