Bitterroot Valley a head start in hindsight

ofc not!

Wait, someone called behind him. Skífa planted his ears to his scalp and staggered broadside, head low across his chest, hackles up and shivering. His nose wrinkled slightly as he caught sight of the wolf following him. Damn. Too late to hide, probably too late to bluff his way out of trouble.

He flicked his ears forward and considered his options, his face blank and unreadable. Strangely, the other wolf was acting civil. Friendly, even, despite knowing Skífa was sick. Vulnerable. After a beat, Skífa tilted his head back and smirked again. "Healer?" Maybe he felt giddy and reckless because his body was tired and sore, or because he was starving and thirsty and just upchucked the last meal he'd tried to stuff down, but something about the word was incredibly funny. What were the odds? His luck wasn't this good - not ever.

If this was a trick, it was an interesting one. Might as well see how it played out. He canted his head to one side. "What do you want in return?" His lip half-curled in what might have been amusement or contempt.