Dolate Ṣ̌eɣ̌d Bet et Skið

Dolat niw naw solina bland yoš jwon witu.
Doulat had turned nine—now a tall youngster.

Yowe bet et yowe skið yower kuṭ witu.
His traditional gown and hat had become too short for him.

Magem Dolat eṣ̌ šov halde wozeṣ̌ čiz ne x̌at.
But Dolat was quiet, and said nothing.

Yowe tater kulčiz malum tu.
His father knew everything.

Yi ṣ̌umla yow tate, yi xilta i het kert.
One evening, his father opened a bag.

Ya tate x̌ʉ petrer yi ṣ̌eɣ̌d skið woz yi spo jnav č̣kan beti wuzmetu.
His father had brought him a new hat and a traditional embroidered gown.

Dolate yawi pemeɣ̌n x̌e ɣafč xuš wite.
Dolat wore them and felt very happy.