Conriocht [Werewolf]

Chonac smólach marbh sa choill é seargtha ar an screablach. Bhíos ag déanamh trua de nuair a tháinig madraí de rúid is thugadar ruathar fúm ag snapadh, ag glamadh agus drant orthu. Uaimse do tháinig liúbhéic, gach bagairt is buille coise: Bhí ina bhúirchath eadrainn. Chorraigh na ba sna goirt is chuireadar leis an gcór allta. Theith lucha is dallóga fraoigh isteach faoin doire donn, sheas madra rua ar shiolpa, a cholainn iomlán righin. Chuimhníos ar mo choisíocht; bhí ceithre chrúb fúm. I saw a thrush-corpse shriveling on the woodland’s scrabbly floor. I was busy pitying it when there came a harrying pack of strays that set about me; they bayed and snapped, growling bare-toothed. From my throat such roaring; my every curse and foot-swing made a bellow-war between us. Fields of agitated cattle augmented that wild choir. Mice and shrewmice shrunk back into the oakleaf brown interior as a fox reared upward on a stony ridge, its stance utterly rigid. I remembered to run, felt the four paws under me. Translated from the Irish by Billy Ramsell