ain't it grand

"Well, you look like shit." Those were perhaps the only truthful words Kennedy felt he had heard since the rockslide. Nobody had come out and said it until just now, and he actually felt better hearing that out loud. The honesty was extremely refreshing to the mopey, sullen skeleton of a wolf, and he perked up in a way he had not done in quite some time. He took a moment to observe the female, eyeballing her with interest.

“Kennedy,” he replied after a pregnant pause. “I haven’t heard of you.” He considered elaborating on this, but he did not. Instead, he sat, waiting the inevitable questions or comments or conversation-starters that she was bound to throw upon him.