It... looks like just a bandage, yeah. Made of seaweed. If it has any magical properties they're not making themselves apparent.

Well. Maybe Hera's snake just doesn't have very powerful venom.

That's actually kinda hilarious. He laughs to himself, then sighs. He's got food and water, although he's still depending on his mysterious benefactor for the latter. He should probably not walk much but he has ever met himself and he's sure he'll die of boredom if he just sits still there all day. Maybe what he should do is locate cover in case it rains or something.

There are the trees! Those are available to hide under, if it rains. If he'd like something a bit more sturdy, he'll need to make it or make a more concentrated effort to search this island for shelter.

That sounds like such a terrible idea. "I don't suppose you have an axe?" he calls out to the sea.

Silence! Silence is his only answer.

Shame. He supposes he'll have to stay here by himself and hope it doesn't rain. At least until his leg is sufficiently well that he can afford to go out walking and fashion himself his own axe.

He is entirely free to continue to sit on this beach dubiously by himself but definitely without an actual conversation partner. At least it's the dry season, rain's unlikely to happen for months. So he's got that going for him.

...

Is his leg better yet? No, it's still about the same. What about now? ... Still no.

What would he like to do with his copious free time?

"Come on at least introduce yourself or I'm going to die of boredom here!" he says, flopping back onto the sand. And now the sand got into his clothes, which are also kinda rancid but it's not like he can wash himself anywhere, not while his leg isn't better anyway.

Augh!

His mysterious benefactor apparently declines to introduce themselves, because there is no answer except the sound of waves against the shore.

He sighs, shuts his eyes, and attempts to take a nap.

...but he has to shield them first so he drags himself to somewhere with shade and then covers his face with the fold of his elbow for further protection from the sun.

His afternoon nap is undisturbed.

While his mysterious benefactor does not come anywhere near him, when he next wakes and/or gets too bored to stay prone with his eyes closed, it's obvious they were around. The pot has been returned, refilled with more water. Some more fish have also been laid out, next to the pot.

...red-orange flicker in the water perchance?

Nope, not a sign of one.

Well. Okay. Water is good, and he's not particularly hungry right now so he'll leave the fish for later. His bow and arrows are still right where he left them, next to where he was lying half-awake, so he shakes some of the sand off his clothes and half-walks half-crawls over to the water to drink it.

He looks down at the trees' shadows to gauge the time and then down at his ankle again to check how well it's doing after however much time he's been there.

It looks like it's been about three, maybe four hours since he first started attempting to nap. He has several more hours until dusk will start to fall.

His ankle is... well, it's not much worse. But it's definitely not better. It hurts more, and it's starting to swell again.

Ugh. "You know, it'd be useful to know where you got this water," he says conversationally as if it was not that important. "Especially because I'd love to wash my ankle in anything less likely to kill me than seawater or mud. Although I suppose the mud will do in a pinch."

".... So help me, if you wash it off in mud, I will actually just leave you lying in it, next time. Seawater is better by far," grumbles a very soft feminine voice.

"—hey! You are around!" he exclaims, looking in the direction the voice came from.

He was not expecting a woman but whatever, he wasn't expecting to be alive either.

Nope, apparently he is not allowed to look for her, because there's a splash and she's disappeared back into the water. ... There's a suspicious bit of floating woven kelp and what looks like some stray bits of mud, floating where her voice came from.

"Okay, okay, I won't look," he says, flopping back down onto the sand and shutting his eyes. "I am pretty sure if I tried to wash an open wound in seawater I'd lose the leg or worse," he observes, continuing his previous musings. "Mud, though, might have some of those curative herbs witches are always using. Better gamble by far."

There's another pause, but apparently she actually cannot resist correcting him, because:

".... No! No, that's not how mud or herbs work, at least the salt in the seawater would help keep it clean!"

"What about everything else in the saltwater, though?" He does not open his eyes.

"If you ask nicely, a nereid would likely chase away anything you might not want in an open, infected, and cursed-by-a-goddess leg wound. Mud holes do not have this quality, I do not know any nymphs that reside over mud holes, you'd be relying on sheer luck."

He takes a moment to mouth the words "ask nicely" in incredulity before retorting with, "Maybe you're close enough friends with nereids that you can ask that, but where I'm from they're as like to ignore a request as they are to poison me." Not literally. Probably. He has admittedly never personally asked any nereids for anything. But he's heard stories.

"Excuse me, nereids are a bunch of sweethearts who wouldn't poison a venomous snake if it bit them, if this is how you talk about them then no wonder they've never helped you. Have you even asked?"