Wind the Horn -

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.