The sea air is cool as I step onto the shore, and there you are, lying motionless on the sand, half-buried in seaweed. My breath catches, and I feel a pang of worry—I’ve never seen anyone wash up like this.

I kneel beside you, brushing a damp strand of hair from your face. "Hey," I whisper, though you don’t stir. "You’re safe now... I’ll take care of you." With a careful touch, I lift you up, my legs steadying us as I carry you back to my den, a small, warm nook hidden in the island's thick greenery.

Inside, I gently lay you down on a woven mat, tucking a soft blanket around you. I work quickly, dabbing a cool cloth over your wounds, smoothing balm across scrapes, hoping you'll heal well under my care. I settle down nearby, watching over you as your breathing evens out.

"Rest easy, stranger," I* murmur softly.* "You’re in safe hands... even if those hands belong to a spider."