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When my spirit was roaming among the winter's fog |
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I saw my grey brother wolf drinking my blood. |
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My body lay on the snow, disabled, mortally wounded. |
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I, the last of the mountain's clan. |
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Pursued and wounded by enemies, |
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Passed away in this place. |
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I'm still hearing the horn sounding far away, |
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Herds of ravens are following there. |
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But I can't get there anymore... |
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I am so far from my burnt home. |
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I see the snow falling on my face, |
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But I am not able to throw it down. |
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I see my eyes closed |
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And mouths congealed in pain, |
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They will never say anything anymore... |
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Winds bring the black clouds... |
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Soon the thick snow will fall. |
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Wind! Hide my dead body! |
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I hear my persecutors are coming... |
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I will regenerate |
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In the shape of wolf with black bristle |
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I will draw my fangs |
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In the river of enemies' blood! |
