Bitterroot Valley a head start in hindsight

"Since yesterday," he said, forcing his hackles to stay down. Skífa kept holding his breath and had to remember to inhale every so often. Letting someone get this close to him - it felt awkward not to fight.

He vaguely curled his lip again. "Good." He glanced into the other wolf's scarred face, and he smiled toothily. "That's good. Good hunter, then, ha." The other wolf's paw contacted his stomach. Skífa held his breath again and went very, very still. The examination was not as bad as he expected at first. His sides were still sore, and the pressure was mildly painful. It was discomforting but fine.

Then there was a sharp stab around his upper abdomen where his intestines were still inflamed. The kind of feeling he associated with throwing up. He could have tolerated the pain, but the touching was too much. He shoved at the other wolf immediately and rolled upright, hackles bristling again, tail pressing against the inside of one thigh. "Enough." He shuffled backward a few paces, putting distance between them, and spat at the ground off to the side; his mouth had started watering as soon as the pain hit him. He eyed the other wolf skeptically, really hoping he wasn't about to puke again.