Lion Head Mesa the botanist's troubles

Haizel sought out the company of those who knew more of the spiritual side of things. He wasn't much for it, not really, but perhaps there would be some higher power that would be of assistance, or at least, worth knowing of for his purposes. 

He had woken up to his chamber being flooded with a sight that made his soft heart ache and his fur heated against the sun grow cold. 

Each and every one of his flowers, his plants, his beautiful blooms that he had spent so long growing and cultivating to survive the harsh desert's heat... wilted. A sniff confirmed this, and it brought tears to his eyes. 

Restless paws carried the deer-pelted gardener. Someone, anyone, tell him what God to pray to-