The Sentinels There were plants and birds and rocks and things

The tender mien of the man drew Tumbleweed in, to close the distance, share breath, and exchange scents. The ranger was a man easily gentled by touch, and found himself softened and relaxed in the bearlike wolf's presence. While he was both taller and broader than Tumbleweed, the lean coywolf felt safe in his presence. Wanted, almost, when he was referred to as a friend. 

He felt a yearning he'd forced himself to forget years ago; the want for true companionship. Any friends he had ever had had been fairweather, and under the gruelling sun, the folk turned tough, wry, distant. The man of the forest here was sheltered from the elements- and in in this dark and lovely place, Tumbleweed realized he'd perhaps missed a chance at happiness himself, years ago, when he'd chosen a desert exile. 

"I need a home," His voice was soft, broken.