When my spirit was roaming among the winter's fog

I saw my grey brother wolf drinking my blood.

My body lay on the snow, disabled, mortally wounted.

I, the last of the mountain's clan,

Pursued and wounded by enemies,

Passed away in this place.



I'm still hearing the horn sounding far away,

Herds of ravens are following there.

But I can't get there anymore...

I am so far from my burnt home.



I see the snow falling on my face,

But I am not able to throw it down.

I see my eyes closed

And mouths concealed in pain,

They will never say anything more...



Winds bring the black clouds...

Soon the thick snow will fall.

Wind ! Hide my dead body !

I hear my persecutors are coming...



I will regenerate

In the shape of wolf with black bristle.

I will draw my fangs

In the river of enemies' blood