And purified myself in the midst of his sheepfold:
My eye is still surrounded with the clay of the victory.
The shield of Cucutle has been pierced;
Those of his enemies are intact,
For they are the shields of cowards.
I am the white thunder
Which growls after the rain!
Ready to return to my children,
I roar: I must have prey!
I see the flocks and herds escaping