"Tired, mostly," Kieran replied. His trousers were, mercifully, at the top of the pile of folded clothing; he tugged them on and latched the button before engaging with the bit about pecks. He looked at his own wrists and didn't see much in the way of scars outside of the usual bruises to his wrists. It was hard to tell, amongst the old scars, whether Jude had left any pecks on him — and pecks from an albatross were nothing compared to the burn scar along his side, or the old bite mark on his shoulder, or or or.

Still shirtless, Kieran looked up at Jude. He couldn't resist narrowing his eyes and saying, "You should really stay a little further away from it, you know." Sure, maybe the werewolf wouldn't hunt an albatross — maybe — but that didn't mean that it couldn't do a lot of damage, and it was bad enough that Jude's voice took on a ragged quality in the mornings after.

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