"You beasts, what is this you have done
To come upon my land and kill my gentle grazers,
Who I see torn asunder and dead?
You beasts, what is this deviltry,
That you come in the night to destroy
That which I protect,
That which is not wild,
That which before you
Lies weak and helpless?"

So Death entered the forest with his eager hounds,
Championing thoughts of hatred and extermination.
How is it that one who murders out of hunger
Should be a greater beast than one who does out of anger?

"You beast, I have you cornered at last!
The blood on your teeth gives me anger,
But the fear in your eyes gives me laughter!
And as you lay quivering before me,
I shall call forth the Thunder
To strike you down!"

So thunder entered the forest with a shrill clap
And flesh was torn asunder yet again.
And that beautiful beast, who knew only instinct,
Fell dying to the forest floor.

Is this not a cruel mockery of fate,
That the hunter becomes the hunted
And the hunted become but a distant memory?

So thunder entered the forest with a shrill clap . . .

And finally Death left the forest,
Not knowing the Great Mountain was weeping
But secure in the knowledge that his gentle grazers
Would never again spill their blood before the marauding beasts.

And so were silenced the wolfsongs of the night.
You beasts, what is this you have done?