Scritches should probably be beneath her dignity, but consider: fuck that. Stacia crouches down further and turns her head to present him with the fluffiest part of her neck and shoulder, where her fur is almost a full-on mane. It's winter, so she has a thick layer of soft undercoat beneath the longer, greasy-feeling waterproofed guard hairs. York can easily get his entire hand in there before he touches skin. Between her and Kenzie, there's going to be a goddamned shedpocalypse when it starts warming up again.

She acknowledges his answer with a deep grumbling noise. A few of them had tried to take bites out of her before she'd shifted to fight back. Her fur isn't enough to stop the arrows, but she can shrug off the wounds faster.