Sigurd was to roast Fafnir's heart, and carry it to Regin, who
swilled his fill of the Dragon's blood, and lay down to sleep. But as
Sigurd roasted the heart, and wondered if it would soon be done, he
tried it with his finger to see if it were soft. The hot roast burned
his finger, and he put it into his mouth, and tasted the life-blood
of the Dragon. Then in a moment he understood the song of birds, and
heard how the swallows over his head said one to the other, 'There
thou sittest, Sigurd, roasting Fafnir's heart. Eat it thyself and
become the wisest of men.' Then another said 'There lies Regin, and
means to cheat him who trusts him.' Then a third said 'Let Sigurd cut
off his head then, and so own all the gold himself.' Then Sigurd went
to Regin and slew him, and ate the heart, and rode on Gran to
Fafnir's lair, and took the spoil and loaded his good steed with it,
and rode away.

And now Sigurd was the most famous of men. All the songs and stories
of the North made him the darling of that age. They dwell on his soft
hair, which fell in great locks of golden brown, on his bushy beard
of auburn hue, his straight features, his ruddy cheeks, his broad
brow, his bright and piercing eye, of which few dared to meet the
gaze, his taper limbs and well knit joints, his broad shoulders, and
towering height. 'So tall he was, that as he strode through the full-
grown rye, girt with Gram, the tip of the scabbard just touched the
ears of corn.' Ready of tongue too, and full of forethought. His
great pleasure was to help other men, and to do daring deeds; to
spoil his foes, and give largely to his friends. The bravest man
alive, and one that never knew fear. On and on he rode, till on a
lone fell he saw a flickering flame, and when he reached it, there it
flamed and blazed all round a house. No horse but Gran could ride
that flame; no man alive but Sigurd sit him while he leaped through