Lion Head Mesa the botanist's troubles

hm. hm. options narrowed. or, broadened? he couldn't tell. gucci debated another round of opinions, before realizing the priest were the withered one.

with a sigh, he pranced over to- hazelnut, correct?

ah tell ya what, son. gucci placed a tiny forepaw on the priest's, the one still to the ground. even skilled-most agriculturist sahm-times... don't... manage. plants're lifes their own! who knows what goes in their stem-brains, what needs they got what can't be discerned...

this were a bad batch, is all. you'll grow 'em better next time, hm? he offered an encouraging smile and wag of tail.