Cœṽėni Dueniovlėdhi (Part 1)

[1]standard transcription köβ̃ėni dünjoβlėði, "memories of a werewolf";

As I grow fur, my feelings change.
My eyes see differently.
My ears hear a gentle wind.
Smells surround me and envelop me.
Thoughts thin and fall, reverberating faintly in my head.

I was no more than ten when I turned for the first time. Memories of that incident ... are negligible. I do not think, however, that then it was particularly different. I will try to explain.

A man screams and whimpers in pain, one has only to break his finger. What should be said about the suffering experienced by the werewolf? In tiny moments, his body contorts; arms and legs change shape, bones break and join again as many times as I can't count. I hear this terrible crunch every time.

But the Gods, knowing the weakness of living flesh, acted wisely. So that the pain does not drive you crazy, they planted delight in your heart - a boiling fire, in the radiance of which any other light fades. Suffering and joy mix in your chest, and bring unexpected balance, purity and clarity of mind.

His absence.

In my tribe they call me Brunvann[2]in original brunwɨnnoʰ "white-breasted", from Prabet. *brusū, brusn- "breast", *windos "white".. Outside of it, few people know where this name came from.

I am the first of my kind in several generations. They say that my great-great-grandfather could also turn into a fox, but it is unlikely that anyone will be able to verify this. Not many years have passed, but what used to be considered a blessing has become a curse. I remember very well the incredulous, bewildered looks that made me want to hide my head away from my shoulders.

When I was young, I often ran into the woods. At first I wandered there alone, and then I found others like me. Or rather, quite dissimilar.

The only thing we had in common was that we all had a human mind, hidden under a thick layer of fur. But if I accepted my peculiarity as something inevitable, a simple, albeit strange part of me, then the rest made themselves idols. They were so proud of their bestial appearance that it inevitably began to seem as if it was all they had - all they had left. As it turns out, I was almost right.

But I am grateful to them. They helped me to stop being afraid. They taught me many things: how to separate the human mind from the bestial desires; how to follow the trail and hear the sounds. But most importantly, even the Gods could not surpass the powers they gave to man. Each new transformation dulls the senses: at first almost imperceptibly, but then more and more clearly. Be a man - or a beast - for as long as possible, so that, wanting to feel the original delight again, you do not destroy your body with endless conversions and fall into madness.


1 standard transcription köβ̃ėni dünjoβlėði, "memories of a werewolf";
2 in original brunwɨnnoʰ "white-breasted", from Prabet. *brusū, brusn- "breast", *windos "white".

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