Peter's ear twitches beneath Isaac's fingers, in the automatic way a dog's do, not actually trying to dislodge his fingers. After a few heartbeats, he swings his head enough so that Isaac's fingers are resting on the crown of his skull, instead, takes half a step forward so they slide down toward his ruff. His overcoat is coarse but smooth, but beneath it is softer, fluffier fur, almost downy. It's not quite a winter coat yet, but it's getting there, and if he wanted to most of his hand could disappear into Peter's fur.

He huffs a sigh, not quite impatient but also not quite comprehending the depths of Isaac's unease. It's all laid out for him there in scent, clear as day, but the reasons for it are rather more complex than his wolf mind really wants to focus on. After all, they're the strange ones to him. He's exactly as he should be, especially at the moment.