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At this Brok cried impatiently that the head of a wicked person was of no use to him, all that he wanted was to stop Loki's tongue so that he could work less evil, and he took a knife and thread and tried to pierce holes in Loki's lips, but Loki bewitched the knife so that it would not cut. "If only I had Sindri's awl," sighed the dwarf, and instantly his brother's awl was in his hand.
Again he tried to spoil the work as a fly, and bit deeply into Brok's neck, but Brok would not so much as raise his hand to rid him of the pain. When the ring was finally laid to cool, so marvelously had it been wrought that from it each ninth night would fall eight rings as beautiful as itself. Now came the last test of Sindri's cunning.
The Dwarf screamed with pain, but his hands still held the bellows, working it to keep the fire steady, for he knew that the gadfly was Loki, and that Loki was striving to spoil Sindri's work. Again the gadfly stung his hands, but Brock, although his hands felt as if they were pierced with hot irons, still worked the bellows so that the fire did not blaze up or die down for a single instant.
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