The posse of twenty was still gone on the hunt.
The sixteen wolves were fleeing from the hunter's front.
The trackers and hunters had supplies that would last.
It was raining hard, and the trail was fading fast.
The wolves could travel much faster than their pursuit.
The hunters thought they might try a short cutoff route.
The sly band thought that they could outfox the 'dumb beast'.
They cut through the dense jungle, off to the northeast.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem