.

One day when Sigmund and Sinfiotli were hunting, they came upon a
strange house in the dark wood. When they went within they found two men
lying there sleeping a deep sleep. On their arms were heavy rings of
gold, and Sigmund knew that they were the sons of Kings.

And beside the sleeping men he saw wolfskins, left there as though they
had been cast off. Then Sigmund knew that these men were
shape-changers--that they were ones who changed their shapes and ranged
through the forests as wolves.

Sigmund and Sinfiotli put on the skins that the men had cast off, and
when they did this they changed their shapes and became as wolves. And
as wolves they ranged through the forest, now and then changing their
shapes back to those of men. As wolves they fell upon King Siggeir's men
and slew more and more of them.

One day Sigmund said to Sinfiotli: "Thou art still young and I would not
have thee be too rash. If thou dost come upon a company of seven men,
fight them. But if thou dost come on a company greater than seven, raise
up thy voice as a wolf's cry and bring me to thy side."

Sinfiotli promised that he would do this.

One day, as he went through the forest in his wolf's shape, Sigmund
heard the din of a struggle and he stopped to listen for Sinfiotli's
call. But no call came. Then Sigmund went through the forest in the
direction of the struggle. On his way he passed the bodies of eleven
slain men. And he came upon Sinfiotli lying in the thicket, his wolf's
shape upon him, and panting from the battle he had waged.

"Thou didst strive with eleven men. Why didst thou not call to me?"
Sigmund said.

"Why should I have called to thee? I am not so feeble but I can strive
with eleven men."

Sigmund was made angry with this answer. He looked on Sinfiotli where he
lay, and the wicked wolf's nature that was in the skin came over him. He
sprang upon him, sinking his teeth in Sinfiotli's throat.

Sinfiotli lay gasping in the throes of death. And Sigmund, knowing the
deadly grip that was in those jaws of his, howled his anguish.

Then, as he licked the face of his comrade, he saw two weasels meet.
They began to fight, one with the other, and the first caught the second
at the throat, and bit him with his teeth and laid him out as if in
death. Sigmund marked the combat and the end of it. But then the first
weasel ran and found leaves of a certain herb and he put them upon his
comrade's wound. And the herb cured the wound,