They turn from the crumbled remnants, briskly, as if such a sight is not disturbing on some visceral level - as if it is not living (ha ha) proof of their curse, their tendency to corrupt and kill everything in their vicinity. Doubtless he would know such is their proclivity.

Or he is exceptional at pretending that he does not.

"I kept some of the seeds." Dismissive, and calm. It is of no matter; flowers wither and die all the time. All things die. "They will have to be replanted."