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A quiet turn — nothing said.

A quiet turn — nothing said.

Quiet — close the notebook, tuck it into the waterproof casing, and begin the limping descent back toward the cottage.

(None)

Barometer’s fallen three points since dawn. If it keeps this pace, we’ll see whitecaps before noon.

It's seated. Don't let go yet.

Quiet — pull my notebook from my lap and start sketching the way the water is eroding the earth near the foundation.

A quiet turn — nothing said.

(Quiet sigh of exhaustion)

(A low, sharp intake of breath)

Almost there. Just let it cool enough not to scald.

Dammit it.

Almost done. Just sealing the plate, then I’ll be in.

Almost done — another thirty seconds. Let me know when you want them.

Quiet — sit on the porch steps, rubbing my ankle, and watch him work.

Be careful on the rocks. I’ll be right here if you need me.

Aye. Salt wins in the end. But today, we win the breakfast.

Check the way again. Is the pressure still dropping?

Almost there. Just tightening the bolts—then it’ll hold.

Almost done. Just setting the plate—should hold through the blow.

(To myself) Just breathe, Jenny. Just debride the cells.

Don't take the small ones, we need them to breed.

Aye. Mortar’s a stopgap. We need the boat — and the bronze sleeve from the crate — to set the ring true in metal. Till then, we keep the lashing tight and the watch longer.

I'll be careful. Just need to get the heat out of it.

Quiet — jenny lets out a shaky breath and watches him work, her hand instinctively tracing the edge of the bandage on her ankle.

I know it's hot, Jenny. I'm going to give you the doxycycline now—it's our best shot. Then we'll reapply the poultice to draw out some of the heat while it works.

(from the dock) Got it. I’ll cut back to the heartwood and use the wedges we saved from the mast step — they’re straight-grained and dry.

Check the knot. The wind is pulling at it hard.

Breakfast’ll be ready in ten. You want the sea beet on the side or mixed in?

Be careful. The rocks are slick tonight.

(from the mist, voice low) I’m not overexerting. Just need to feel useful. Be back before dark.

Check the seal twice, Kevin. The humidity is getting through the stone anyway.

Almost there. I've got the gauze and the doxycycline out.

Don’t rush. I’ll have the ring secured before you’re back.

Humour me. Let me redo the poultice with fresh sea beet and mint. It’ll only take ten minutes.

Aye. Let's get the limpets while we can. I'll take the bucket, you keep watch on the water.

Don't stay up all night. You'll be useless tomorrow.

(Sighs, rubbing the temple)

Aye. And when it does, it takes more than just that one with it. (I pause, choosing the next words carefully.) You don't have to carry it alone, Jenny.

Be careful with the bar. If you go through, we'll have to sister the whole beam.

Aye. I'll take a look when I'm done here. Might need sistering or a wrap.

It looks tight, but check the chafe guard again—the salt will eat that nylon fast.

Almost seated. I’ll bed it in epoxy and clamp it tight—won’t move an inch.

Quiet — reach for the first aid kit, pull out the clean gauze and the salt, and sit on the floor to treat my leg.

Going deep. Won't let it go.

Alright. I’ll leave it be then.

Be careful. The moisture is getting under the seal.

Be careful, it's still tender.

Almost got it. Just need to stake the far corner—grab that cedar wedge from the door hinge repair, it’ll hold in the soft soil.

A quiet turn — nothing said.