As he’d thrown Motred to the side, the wide satchel on the nobleman’s side came flying open, and from it, something came flying straight toward Einar’s face, it latched onto his right ear, and a moment afterward he felt an insufferably annoying pain raking across his cheek. He’d hurled the sword he had in his awkward grip away to the ground, clawing his good left hand to his face, grabbing hold of what he then just barely realized was a small rodent of black fur, before tossing the creature upon the ground as well.
‘’Cheva’s tits… what…’’, Einar was impossibly annoyed for an instant, holding a hand to where the mouse had bitten him across the cheek… yet before he could either stomp onto the creature as it scurried away toward where the old man was seated, or move to assert his victory over Motred, Ein heard the bearded bloke’s voice, calm yet booming.
‘’That would be quite enough now!’’, he spoke. The black mouse having already reached him, and been received into the caring palm of the fellow’s hand.
‘’That’s enough, old man? Ye bloody think?’’
‘’If you want your coin, master Einar, you will cease now, and help the young master up. If you would.’’, stoic attitude was swiftly overpowering whatever verbal fight Ein had readied up…
It was odd, throughout the exchange with Motred, the old man hadn’t interfered nor even let out a sound, in a way Ein had completely forgotten he was even there, he’d even forgotten the handful of coin he was promised for sparring the brattish noble… Yet at recalling the real reason for the fight they’d had did a small wonder of dispersing the remnants of his vengeful anger… his mood was still sour and grumpy from the hits he’d taken and an gaping wound in his upside-down pride… yet any ounce of murderous intent had disappeared…