Sam

     “You see all this grey fur I have?” Sam responded to Venor’s question on why he didn’t join the hunting party. The pack had just taken him in and was missing three wolves.

     “Yes, why?” He answers curiously.

     “I’m getting old. I ain’t hunting.” Sam, about five years old at the time. 

     “Surely, you have to be joking. Come on, they need help. Even if you’re too old, what makes you think you can keep up with puppies and make sure they don’t hurt themselves” Venor lets out a sigh, impatient with the older wolf’s reluctance. Didn’t he see that they needed him?

     “Get out, I won’t join their hunts, and I will pupsit the future puppies. I’m not taking no for an answer, whether it’s from you or anyone else. Don’t make me push you out myself”

Letting out a huff, Venor turns around and leaves. Taking one last look at the newest member of the pack.

(rewrite dialgoue, it’s bad. Real bad)