Dreemurr & Son, Investigative Gardeners

The man looked surprised when Flowey's motorized planter rolled into view, and then---yes, there it was---endeared.

Right on cue, he looked at the text "Dreemurr & Son, Investigative Gardeners" on the side of the truck, then at Asgore, then back at Flowey.

Flowey could see the Question welling up. But before it reached the man's mouth, Asgore mercifully extended a hand. "How are you?"

While they made small talk, Flowey slipped into the ground.

It was good soil. Clayey, slightly acidic, and full of life. He went below the surface, and dug around for irregularities.

There was no light, and the sound was muted. He relied on different senses here. He didn't have the words to describe them, because most English speakers weren't plants.

He didn't notice any gross environmental problems, so he went back up.

"...by my grandfather, so I'd like to keep it if at all possible."

"Yes, of course."

The two were looking at a large oak tree. It wasn't healthy. The leaves were wilting and even falling off.

He went back down and dug toward the tree roots. As he suspected, they weren't healthy either. There weren't nearly enough root hairs, and they were structurally weak. The soil tasted strongly of fungus. He dug further around the tree to see how it was distributed.

When he emerged Asgore was already crouched down and waiting. "What do you think?" he asked.

"Looks like some kind of root rot," said Flowey. "Mostly around the east side."

Asgore nodded. "That sounds right." He turned to the customer. "The recent rain could have caused it. In the long term you should look for a way to improve the soil drainage. For now we may be able to save the tree by removing the affected roots, but it's not a certain thing."

Flowey made small marks above all the deceased roots. He then cleaned himself under a tap, so the infection wouldn't spread to him, while Asgore cut out the roots with a shovel.

Asgore loaded the roots into the truck for safe disposal.

"We would like to come back in around a week to see how the tree is doing. Is that alright?"

"Sure."

Now that he was near the truck again, the Question returned, and made it all the way to the man's mouth. "Is he your son?" he blurted out, looking from Asgore's tall stature to Flowey in his planter.

"He is," said Asgore, and that was that.