"Thing like that’s gotta be slow," he mutters, eyes narrowing. "Big. Heavy. Probably not quick to turn either."
He turns to the others, voice low but deliberate. "What if we don’t fight it head-on? What if we get it to move—chase a few of us. Draw it off while the barge slips through behind?"
Reaching into his pack, Varin pulls out a sealed flask of lamp-oil and a dusty bottle of bitterroot wine. He holds them up one after the other, brows raised.
"These might help. If we can get close enough, set it on fire. It won’t like that."
He pauses, thinking, then adds with a grim smirk, "But we need to pull it off the riverbank first. Set it ablaze too close to the water and it’ll just roll in and snuff itself out."
He sets the bottles down carefully beside him and looks to the group.
"Won’t take much. Just gotta piss it off enough to follow."