"Ahh, you escaped the fate that is worse than death. You did well to refuse her hand, my dear fellow. I assure you that you will never regret it."
Tristin looked up as the mouse walked up to his table and addressed him. Excuse me gentlebeasts, I am dearly sorry for interrupting this conversation, but the rat over there wanted to see Mister St. Caens.
"Oh, ahh. Of course, right away." The weasel stood and strode over to where a fat searat sat contented over his eighth pint of October Ale. The animal looked up as Tristin tapped him jovially on the shoulder. "Er, I was told that you wanted to see me."
The rat frowned confusedly and growled back at the oblivious mustelid. "Ah, urr, ah never wanted to see yew." He punched the weasel hard in the stomach. "Get away from meh, I'm being busy, and you're bothering meh. Else you want me to hit yew harder, eh?"
Tristin gasped, "No, thank… thank you kindly. Please. Although, I just thought that you should know, that mouse over there, the one sitting by the largish stoat... Called you a... Oh dear. A... Fish Headed- Piece of Sea-Cheese, and a Silly Daft Drunkard..."
The rat's bleary eyes snapped open. "Ee said that?"
Tristin's smiled sadly.
"Yes, indeed he did. He also said that he'd fight you any time of the day or night..."
He chuckled to himself as the rat made his way purposefully, if unsurely, towards the offending character who sat in conversation with Prattel.