Summary: The undergrowth on this planet is decidedly unfriendly.
“Watch out for the thorns,” the Doctor warns. “They’re sharp.”
“I noticed.” Clara tugs her shirt free of a cluster of the sharp spines protruding from something that might have been a tree, wincing at the tear in the fabric. “If you’d told me everything here was spiky, I’d have dressed more suitably.”
It’s annoying the way the Doctor can somehow slip between the thorny plants without getting his clothes snagged once, while Clara’s own clothes are in danger of being shredded. That is SO not fair.