ain't it grand

Some mature language up in here.

Well, wasn't that just peaches and cream? It seemed some nobody had swept Thistle off her feet. Some nobody that Edy could not recall really ever meeting. Congratu-fucking-lations to them. Kennedy's leg was doing a tad bit better, but he knew it would never be the same. How could it? Even with Thistle's work, they were still just wolves, and not much could be done to set the bone properly. Kennedy had taken to just keeping the leg close to him at all times, rarely letting it touch the ground or hold any of his weight.

Kennedy moped by the ocean today, wondering if he should just throw himself in and be done with it. That would be the easier option. Living in a constant state of unrest and dissatisfaction was not exactly his idea of fun. Perhaps he should just leave the ridge all together. Trek out and find something better. At this point, though, he was not sure that "better" existed. This was probably as good as it would ever get.