“Good. Now you soak the cloth.” Ana-Luz said when the water steamed.
Ana-Luz gave her a clean rag. Emma dipped it in the hot water—testing the temperature first—just shy of boiling—and wrung it out. Steam rose from her hands.
“Apply it. Hold it there until he stops shaking.”
Emma pressed the cloth to the young man’s foot. He hissed through his teeth, but didn’t pull away. She kept her hand steady, maintaining gentle pressure.
“While we wait, we make the medicine.” Ana-Luz said.
She crushed herbs between her palms—the scent sharp and green, like rosemary but earthier. Mixed them with something darker, mashed berries, almost black. Added a few drops of oil that had a medicinal bite. Her movements were precise, economical. No wasted motion.
“This,” Ana-Luz indicated the dark berries, “pulls the venom toward the surface. This,” the green one, “stops the swelling.Both grow here on the island. The oil—it helps bind the mixture. Not necessary, but good to have. You understand?”
Emma nodded, watching closely. She’d done a wilderness first aid course once, but lionfish hadn’t been covered.
The young man’s shaking eased after a minute or two.
“Good,” Ana-Luz said. “Now the poultice. Spread it thick. All the punctures.”
Emma scooped the herb paste onto her fingers. It was warm and gritty. She worked it over each puncture, covering them completely. His breathing was already slowing, the panic leaving his eyes.
“Wrap it.” Ana-Luz handed her a length of clean cotton. “Not too tight. It must breathe.”
Emma wound the bandage around his foot, keeping it snug but not constricting. She tied it off with a knot she learned at summer camp a lifetime ago, when her biggest concern had been friendship bracelets and winning at Capture the Flag.
When she sat back, Ana-Luz was watching her with an expression Emma couldn’t quite read.
“Good hands,” the older woman said. “You listen.”
Something warm and unexpected bloomed in Emma’s chest. It felt like approval, but deeper than that. Like being seen.
Emma rinsed her hands in a basin of cool water, scrubbing away the last traces of crushed herbs. Her mind was already shifting forward, slotting what she’d learned into a broader framework—resort safety, training protocols, contingencies.
She glanced out toward the water, where the horizon stretched calm and endless. “The storm that's coming,” she said, drying her hands on a clean cloth. “The hurricane—how bad does it get here in the village?”
Ana-Luz followed her gaze, expression unreadable. “Sometimes it passes like a loud argument. Sometimes it lingers and breaks things.”
Emma nodded, filing that away. “If it strengthens,” she continued, tone practical, not alarmist, “does everyone evacuate? Or shelter in place?”
A flicker of interest crossed Ana-Luz’s face—approval, maybe. “We have our ways,” the older woman said. “Some go inland. Some stay. Depends on the storm, depends on the sea.”
Emma considered the structures again—the roofs, the elevation, the distance from the shoreline.
“If you need anything,” she met Ana-Luz’s eyes now, steady and sincere, “transport, supplies, assistance—I can coordinate support from the resort. Quietly, if you prefer.”
Ana-Luz studied her for a long moment, something deeper moving behind her eyes. “You think ahead,” she said finally.
“I plan,” Emma corrected with a smile.
“Mm.” The hint of approval returned. “The island likes those who plan. They are easier to keep alive.”
The young man’s uncle clapped Emma on the shoulder hard enough to make her stumble. “Gracias, señorita. Muchas gracias.”
“It was Ana-Luz?—”
“T’was both,” Ana-Luz interrupted. “Come. We eat now.”
Lunch was simple: grilled red snapper that flaked apart at the touch of a fork, mashed cassava with coconut milk, sweet plantains blackened at the edges. They ate at a rough wooden table under the banyan tree, and Emma couldn’t remember the last time anything tasted this fresh.
