[probably a little alarming, but the Battler with the heart problems just kind of reaches into his chest to pull at the thorns--no longer that purple color, going black and withering. but thankfully it's fine. they snap, brittle, under his fingers and he gives the biggest sigh of relief.

similarly, the vines and thorns among the flowers seem to be steadily going the same way, dark and withering.]

I really wish... they'd stop targetting that...