The Sentinels There were plants and birds and rocks and things

@Barbatos when you have time <3

Normally a desert-dweller, the man was surprised at how swiftly he could travel on hard, clay-packed earth. Of course, he'd become conditioned to walking on sand, where it shifted beneath his feet with every movement, but something about running through the woodlands and valleys made him feel as though he could almost open up the invisible wings he'd kept folded at his sides, and fly off into the air. There was something gratifying about feeling so fit in a land that felt so soft and simple to him. Trees provided shade, lakes and rivers provided water, and the ground was cool to the touch. 

Still- he longed for a land to call his home, and with a heavy heart, he'd learned to abandon the one he had chosen, as it drew so little attention from those he would align with. Thieves, trespassers, creatures that would sooner squabble over a puddle of water rather than share it. He too had been one of these creatures- one who had sought to commodify something that should have been public domain.

The seaside appealed to him, naturally, as it was familiar to the desert in two ways. Sand, sand, everywhere- shifting beneath his feet. And while there was water as far West as the eye could see, it wasn't potable. 

He could smell other wolves in the area, and as he breathed in a cleansing breath, he thought- perhaps now was the time to try and learn how to follow.

he returned from his visit to the western village, mind riddled with the assorted tasks set before him. there was much work to be done, and many nights of labour set before him.

he would send a raven to his kin in saltlight, a message that he'd found a land destined to birth a great many healings. perhaps they would be able to spare some bodies to aid him in his preparations.

his heart yearned for the fledglings, for his children. he often thought fondly of them, and wondered if they'd yet completed their training on the isle.

but his thoughts did not stray far today, and he was instead greeted with the scent of a stranger. and so with a gentle step he moved towards his guest's direction, tail swaying cheerfully behind him.

He heard the whisper of wind whistling in the woodlands, and found it reassuring. It made him expect to meet gentle folk in these parts, sheltered from both the blast of ocean air and sizzle of midday sun. Perhaps in kinder conditions, kinder wolves were born, ones whose only competition was with other predators, and not among themselves. 

He smelled another and was drawn closer by the idea that perhaps he might find someone who could direct him, counsel him, and teach him to live a gentler life. It was a romantic notion, really, but Tumbleweed believed in romantic things. 

His head bowed and his tail swayed to mirror the body language he saw in the other. He licked his chops, easing any tension from his lips as he pushed his whiskers forward. A keening whine was sent to appease the other, a gentle note of good spirit which intended to relinquish dominance in a heartbeat.

it was not long before the silhouette of his guest turned to rendered color. features became clearer, scents became stronger. he smelt of an air not known to the dryad, of foreign lands and untold stories.

he slowed his approach to an undemanding pace, steps easy at the sound of a gentler man's whine. if there was a dominant bone in barbatos' body, he'd likely broken it as a child.

"friend," he greeted with a good-natured smile and open embrace. "what brings you to the woodland?" he questioned, though not in a way that demanded answers. he sought only to aid, to offer his assistance if he was able.

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.

he'd nursed the wounded, aided the lost, and tended to the broken-spirited. he'd done so a dozen times in the early stages of his life, each one a story of new beginnings and invaluable teachings.

yet even still, he felt the hurt and brokenness with each new soul that found their way to him. he shared in their pain, their loneliness, their search for something more. he sought only to bring them peace, so that they might be free from the bonds that chained them to old lives.

the man before him now was no different. he spoke of his needs, and the dryad wasted no time in taking them on as his own.

he gave a gentle nod of encouragement before reaching out to invite the man beside him. "then a home is what you shall have."

it was decided, and so it would be.