Shamus
Standing, or rather, sinking up to his ankles in the swamps of Nazar, Shamus the Saffron found it hard to concentrate on the deal is was trying to propose. Gnats swarmed his face, swamp gasses burned his eyes, and he just knew he would be nipping ticks out of his fur for the next week. And none of this seemed to be affecting the clueless Hemlock he was talking to. What a savage.
"Look, can't you see how this would only help both of us, matey? There has got to be something you need a little luck to help improve your odds. A chance with the ladies? A good hunt tomorra? An even deadlier poison? Anything you can think of, luck can make it better. And all you hafta to do for me to get some of that luck is give me a wee bit of your poison, just so I could kill a few plants. Isn't that what your lot want anyway? Death?"
Shamus felt like he was getting nowhere with this wolf. It would be unfortunate too, his future leisure life depended on it. He hated being in this dreadful bog. Mold, moss, mildew, and rot seemed to be everywhere the wary Saffron turned, and he frankly couldn't tell if it was the swamp or the wolves that lived in it that smelled the worst. His only luck so far that day was that he had caught this Hemlock towards the edge of his territory, so that ducking out if this deal looked sour would be an option. Which it seemed to be. He had done all the talking to this fool, and he was no closer to getting an herbicide than he had been ten minutes ago. Maybe he should try the Aven. They knew about plants. Though probably not about the killing part.