Wolfish nature in the veil of mourning mist was rising slow, by the edge of cold, iced mountains creating the sound… That sound, so pure, so unspoiled by modern humanity, has been heard by the souls hungry for forests’ whisper, streams’ tales and oaks’ songs. And those souls decided to realize it through music. Fog’s breath entered the pipe, snow cached the riffs on guitar, branches of pine laid on the keyboard, clouds collected the sounds of cosmos, raven screamed through the throat of wolf in human skin, calling the oaks to teach heathen souls to sing the monuments of ancient sorrow… All became one, in the spirit of Svarog. He guided the sound through the forest paths, making sure that every stone can hear it. And tears flew from the stones, cold tears, tears of gods and ancestors. We took the horns and collected them. And horns turned to ice on the sound created, mysteries stayed known only to those who found them. The runes united elements, streams stopped to hear that sound, so far, yet so near and present. The sound reflected the monuments of ancient, cold and powerful sorrow, sorrow of centuries, heathen sorrow. But we know- the sorrow will turn to rage and the rage to war. And every forest will be the legion, and every branch the spear inspired by the sound created here. These sounds are not deeds of humans. This is not something we created. We do not exist…

Source : http://www.myspace.com/kaganserbia