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 wounded

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 congealed in pain
They will never say anything anymore

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!