When this child, Sinfiotli, was ten years of age, she herself made a preliminary test of his courage by sewing his garment to his skin. Then she suddenly snatched it off with shreds of flesh hanging to it, and as the child did not even wince, but laughed aloud, she confidently sent him to Sigmund. He, too, found the boy quite fearless, and upon leaving the hut one day he bade him take meal from a certain sack, and knead and bake the bread. On returning home Sigmund asked Sinfiotli whether his orders had been carried out. The lad replied by showing the bread, and when closely questioned he artlessly confessed that he had been obliged to knead into the loaf a great adder which was hidden in the meal. Pleased to see that the child, for whom he felt a strange affection, had successfully stood the test which had daunted his predecessors, Sigmund bade him refrain from eating of that loaf, as he alone could taste poison unharmed, and patiently began to teach him all a Northern warrior need know.
“For here the tale of the elders doth men a marvel to wit,
That such was the shaping of Sigmund among all earthly kings,
That unhurt he handled adders and other deadly things,
And might drink unscathed of venom: but Sinfiotli was so wrought
That no sting of creeping creatures would harm his body aught.”
The werewolves.
Sigmund and Sinfiotli soon became inseparable companions, and while ranging the forest together they once came to a hut, where they found two men sound asleep. Wolf skins hanging near them immediately made them conclude that the strangers were werewolves (men whom a cruel spell forced to assume the habits and guise of ravenous wolves, and who could only resume their natural form for a short space at a time). Prompted by curiosity, Sigmund donned one of the wolf skins, Sinfiotli the other, and they were soon metamorphosed into wolves and rushed through the forest, slaying and devouring all they saw.
Such were their wolfish passions that they soon attacked each other, and after a fierce struggle Sinfiotli, the younger and weaker, fell down dead. This sudden catastrophe brought Sigmund to his senses. While he hung over his murdered companion in sudden despair, he saw two weasels come out of the forest and fight until one lay dead. The live weasel then sprang back into the thicket, and soon returned with a leaf, which it laid upon its companion’s breast. At the contact of the magic herb the dead beast came back to life. A moment later a raven flying overhead dropped a similar leaf at Sigmund’s feet, and he, understanding that the gods wished to help him, laid it upon Sinfiotli, who was restored to life.
Afraid lest they might work each other further mischief while in this altered guise, Sigmund and Sinfiotli now crept home and patiently waited until the time of release had come. On the ninth night the skins dropped off and they hastily flung them into the fire, where they were entirely consumed, and the spell was broken forever.