A stout Huller mouse named Cob, whose fur was stained dark from his chin to his hindpaws, sat at the end of the table nearest the bakery, arguing with Maple.
“I tell ye I have washed up! Them is stains from yestermorn. I fished a mess o’ them hulls out o’ the edge o’ the creek fer t’take t’the sludge pit.”
Maple stood over Cob, fists planted firmly on her hips, a spoon in one paw. “If that be true, then the water woulda washed ’em clean.”
“If I’da finished the job at the creek, sure, but I spent the rest o’ the mornin’ muckin’ around in the hulls fer my hullin’ blade what got lost at harvest.”
“And ya didn’t have no water to wash up with, I s’pose,” Maple said, eyeing him suspiciously.
“By the time noonmeal came, them stains was set, water er no water,” Cob said, glaring at her.
“Stains or no stains, ya ain’t touchin’ my fruit ’n nut bread with them filthy paws,” Maple declared as she confiscated a large slice lathered with honey butter from his plate.
Cob stood up and snatched it back, plopping down in his seat again.
“Why, you rascal! I have a good mind to whop ya over yer nugget with my spoon!” Maple screeched, shaking the spoon in Cob’s face.
“Not with no broken spoon, y’ain’t!” Cob snatched the spoon from Maple and poised it over his knee threateningly.
“Oh, no ya don’t!” Maple bellowed as she snatched it back.
Ash and the others chewed their food and sipped their drinks with wide eyes as they watched the two mice squabble back and forth.
Elder Veil, whose back was turned on the pair, asked the king if the bickering mice were married. When the king informed him that they were not, Elder Veil replied, “Ah, then it’s only a matter of time.”
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