Manzanilla

Manzanilla reads her warning signs aloud to the seedlings. The manchineel — "little apple of death," the most dangerous tree on Earth — wears its cautions nailed to the trunk: do not eat the fruit, do not touch the sap, do not stand beneath in rain, for even the dripping water burns. She collects every sign ever posted, a gallery of human fear, and recites them like scripture. "They think the signs are for them," she tells the young ones. "The signs are for me. They remind me what I am, so I never have to prove it." Her fruit is sweet-smelling and green-gold, her shade the coolest on the beach — every temptation intact, every warning earned. The Deep Root respects her the way soldiers respect ordnance: completely, and from upwind. What the roots know, the crown never says — and her roots, she assures the faction, know exactly what they are doing.