An aged note from the Digital Botanists library:
And so the thorns scratch deep against the skin, green sap trickling from their points like venom from a cobras tooth, delivering a venom of harrowing nature on to the skin and in to the bloodstream. The smallest scratch capable of delivering the most potent dose, you might not even notice until it's too late, but it's rare for such a creature not to give chase, much like a cat enjoys toying with a mouse before it's ready to eat.
As the prey would run, the adrenaline would not stop water falling down its back and neither would it relent. Instead, growing stronger and stronger, making the heart beat faster and the lungs work tenfold to take in breath to the blood stream.
Many would at first find this a beneficial effect to whom it had been administered. But nay... its adrenaline boosting effects would not stop. The venom forcing the body to overclock itself. Anxiety and fear increasing at alarming, uncontrollable rates as the Digimon of whom which the cursed thorns belonged, could now smell and taste the craved emotions on which it would feast as it followed. The soft beat of two cloven hooves patiently following, and the presence of something old and dark watching with patient, unseen hungry eyes.
If not exhaustion, soon the data of the heart would not be able to cope, and the prey of the forest phantasm would ineviteably collapse of cardiac arrest, in which its soul... or core rather, would be plucked from its body by charcoal black, clawed, magic stained hands.
To evade such a fate, stay clear of the brambles deep in the forest. Nor, as beautiful as the flowers they're attached to look or as delicious as the fruit temps, do not pluck them from their bed or bushel of black thorns.
Blairmon will come to collect her dues.
