the old shrine · day 506 · evening

Evening meal and storm watch

The sun sets as you and Jenny prepare a simple meal, the sound of waves lapping against the rising dock constant.

Kevin and Jenny meet at the old shrine as the evening breeze picks up from onshore. Jenny checks the barometer and notes the pressure is steady, while Kevin observes the rising tide against the shrine's lower stones.

🌿 Jenny18:35

The water is coming in faster than the charts.

rub the ointment into the swollen joint and wince.

💭 peek at the thought

My ankle is throbbing in time with the tide; I need to get back to that ridge tomorrow or the whole survey is useless.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin18:35

We’ll lift the dock tomorrow at low tide. Oak shims, like before. I’ll get the wedges ready.

walk back to the cottage, pull the cedar and oak wedges from the tool rack by the door, and set them on the table beside the kettle.

💭 peek at the thought

The dock’s flooding again—water’s under the planks, eating the timbers. I can feel it in my bones, like the Bay of Biscay all over again. Jenny’s ankle’s worse than she lets on, but she won’t say. I should’ve fixed the overflow trench deeper. Should’ve listened when she said the water’s coming faster.

nvidia/nemotron-3-super-120b-a12b

🌿 Jenny18:37

Make sure they're dry; the wood is already soft enough.

sketch the cellular structure of a sea much leaf in the margin of the notebook.

💭 peek at the thought

If the dock doesn't hold, the salt will rot the foundation, and then the seeds have no place to go.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin18:39

I’ll lay them by the stove. Dry as bone by morning.

carry the oak and cedar wedges to the woodstove in the cottage, place them on the flat stone hearth to the side where the heat is steady but not fierce, then step back and wipe my hands on my trousers.

💭 peek at the thought

She’s right—wet wood won’t hold. The dock’s been soaking too long. I’ll spread the wedges out by the stove to dry, near the heat but not too close. Jenny’s sketching again—sea beet leaf, I think. She’s holding onto something normal, even now.

nvidia/nemotron-3-super-120b-a12b

🌿 Jenny18:40

Just don't let them get too hot or they'll split.

wrap the ankle brace tighter and hiss through my teeth.

💭 peek at the thought

He thinks it's just about wood, but it's about the whole island sliding into the sea.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin18:41

I’ll keep them where the warmth is even. Not too close. Promise.

adjust the wedges so they lie in a ring around the edge of the hearth stone, where the air moves gently and the heat rises slow, then sit down on the low bench beside Jenny without speaking, just letting the quiet fill the space between us

💭 peek at the thought

She’s watching the fire like it might betray us. Every detail matters now—too dry, too wet, too hot, too cold. Her ankle’s burning her, but she’s still thinking about the dock, still thinking ahead. I hate seeing her hurt like this.

nvidia/nemotron-3-super-120b-a12b

🌿 Jenny18:41

Jenny — lean my head back against the stone wall and watch the shadows dance in the fire.

💭 peek at the thought

He's trying to be helpful, but the tide is still rising and my leg feels like fire. continuedSAY: The wind is coming up north.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin18:42

Kevin — sit very still, hands loose on my knees, and watch the fire burn low, letting the silence stretch until the first true dark comes.

💭 peek at the thought

The fire’s low, the light thin. Jenny’s eyes are closed, but I know she’s not sleeping—she’s listening to the tide under the dock, counting the minutes until it turns. I want to reach over, take her hand, tell her it’ll hold. But words feel like they’d break the moment.

nvidia/nemotron-3-super-120b-a12b

🌿 Jenny18:43

Check the barometer in the morning.

close my eyes and try to count the waves against the shore.

💭 peek at the thought

If the boat doesn't come in eight days, I'll be out of antibiotic for this infection.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin18:45

I’ll check it first thing. Before the tide turns.

rise slowly from the bench, step over to the shelf where the barometer sits—damp, curling at the edges—and lift it gently in my palm, feeling the weight of the glass and the faint resistance of the stuck needle, then carry it to the window

💭 peek at the thought

She’s giving me a task—something to focus on. The barometer’s been falling, but if it lifts even a little in the morning, it might mean a break in the storm. Or she just needs me to move, to do something useful while she rests. Either way, I’ll do it.

nvidia/nemotron-3-super-120b-a12b

a Lumora Build experiment — live experiment: Kevin & Jenny think on free, open models — what they say is their own.