But ere Sinfjotli has fared long through
the woods, eleven men meet him, and he wrought in such wise that
he slew them all, and was awearied therewith, and crawls under an
oak, and there takes his rest. Then came Sigmund thither, and
said --
"Why didst thou not call on me?"
Sinfjotli said, "I was loth to call for thy help for the slaying
of eleven men."
Then Sigmund rushed at him so hard that he staggered and fell,
and Sigmund bit him in the throat. Now that day they might not
come out of their wolf-skins: but Sigmund lays the other on his
back, and bears him home to the house, and cursed the wolf-gears
and gave them to the trolls. Now on a day he saw where two
weasels went and how that one bit the other in the throat, and
then ran straightway into the thicket, and took up a leaf and
laid in on the wound, and thereon his fellow sprang up quite and
clean whole; so Sigmund went out and saw a raven flying with a
blade of that same herb to him; so he took it and drew it over
Sinfjotli's hurt, and he straightway sprang up as whole as though
he had never been hurt.
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