Bitterroot Valley a head start in hindsight

Throw up? His first impulse was to refuse - rashly, and with prejudice. Then another wave of nausea bubbled up and his mouth was full of spit again, and throwing up seemed like a good idea after all. Still, he just blinked dourly at the one-eyed healer while he was lectured why it was best to go with the flow.

Skífa managed to shine a nice, sharp smile at him. "Good healer too, huh? If you know all that." And then he promptly puked again. This time more bile than putrid old meat, but that was fine because he felt infinitely better once it was over. He prowled away from the offensive blob, raised his head, and took a whiff of fresh winter air to clear his head. That cold wind still felt wonderful against his face. "There, just for you."

Given the prescription to take care of himself, Skífa shrugged blandly and glanced south. He still felt his best chance of finding some water was that way. "How long?" he ventured to ask before either of them could move away. How long until the problem sorted itself out, and he no longer felt so gods-awful, wrung-out and queasy?