Magic, while rare in his world, is not so unfamiliar that Roland does not recognize what was meant to happen, there. Some sort of projectile. A small part of his mind notes it, because that might be a very useful thing to know someday, but the rest of him's paying attention to the approaching creature. It's close enough that he can see its body language - cautious now, wary.

It's time to assess. Roland does so and decides this plan, not exactly impressive in the first place, was probably a lost cause from the moment whoever this is stumbled on him trying it. "You owe me a fight with one of these," he mutters, sounding a little resentful, then draws his hand back from the man's mouth and glances behind them for exit routes. "Time to go. Leave that," he flicks a hand toward the bag of bottles, "you can come for it later."