But when he saw it was tainted with gore he was disgusted at the look of the water, and refrained from its infected draught.

For Anganty had been struck down in the waves of the river, and had dyed its course so deep with his red blood that it seemed now to flow not with water, but with some ruddy liquid.

So Starkad thought it nobler that his bodily strength should fail than that he should borrow strength from so foul a beverage.
Therefore, his force being all but spent, he wriggled on his knees, up to a rock that happened to be lying near, and for some little while lay leaning against it.

A hollow in its surface is still to be seen, just as if his weight as he lay had marked it with a distinct impression of his body.

But I think this appearance is due to human handiwork, for it seems to pass all belief that the hard and uncleavable rock should so imitate the softness of wax, as, merely by the contact of a man leaning on it, to present the appearance of a man having sat there, and assume concavity for ever.
A certain man, who chanced to be passing by in a cart, saw Starkad wounded almost all over his body.