"I'm sorry, serah, I believe I misheard you."
"You didn't. I would like fifty."
The kennel master wrung his hands nervously, his eyes darting away nervously from those of his client. "I am so sorry, miss, but there's no way I can breed that many in such a short time. Only got four bitches haven't I?"
"I will take as many as you have immediately ready to part from their mothers, then. The rest I will come for when they are ready." The woman reached within the folds of the dark cloak that rested over her shoulders. Fingers found the weighty bag of gold at her right hip and she worried at the leather thongs that held it in place. The kennel master found it odd that she would not simply reach across with her left hand. "For your services." She said, transferring the sack to his own awaiting palm.
"If I may ask," the man said, peering into the sack with a well-contained expression of relief, "Most are happy with only a few pups. I heard about the Inquisition dissolving - that's right, I know who you are. What nags to be answered is this: what need have you of fifty wolfhounds?"
"I have developed a problem with a particular wolf."