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‘Watch out below!’
There was hardly need to call out the warning. The Lossoth oarsmen rowed hard away from the Elven ship as the barrel broke lose from the winch and plummeted down to the icy waters. For a brief moment it was submersed entirely then bounced up, riding on the waves. It rolled round and round, making it hard to get hold of with the long oars. Once corralled, the ropes were resecured and the barrel hauled upwards again.
Rôg helped to support the runaway barrel as it was taken up to the Elven ship. For a brief moment, the edge of the barrel end rested against his shoulder, near his ear. A frown crossed his face as his ear was pressed against the staves. But the rope tightened, the barrel swung up, and he bent to help secure another barrel.
As the second barrel made its way to the ship’s deck, Rôg bent near Galhardir and whispered a question. ‘Was it my imagination, or did that first barrel seem to be whimpering?’
Galhardir looked oddly at the other man. Rôg shrugged and smiled sheepishly. ‘Perhaps it was just the wood creaking . . .’
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