the old shrine · day 533 · evening

Preparing for the storm

The sun is dipping behind heavy grey clouds, and the wind has finally picked up. Kevin and Jenny retreat to the cottage as the first heavy drops of rain fall.

The sky thickens into a heavy, flat grey as the humidity spikes before the coming rain. Kevin and Jenny return from the old shrine as the tide begins its slow turn, exposing the slick rocks of the shore. Jenny's ankle is wrapped in the mint and sea beet poultice, the throbbing a manageable pulse under the pressure.

🔧 Kevin21:17

Come on, let’s get inside before it soaks through. I’ll check the generator — make sure it’s got fuel for the night.

walk toward the cottage, supporting Jenny’s weight gently at the elbow as we move, keeping pace with her limp.

💭 peek at the thought

The rain’s coming in hard now — good for the tanks, bad for the dock. I should’ve finished that mooring ring seal before the tide turned. Jenny’s ankle’s flaring again; I saw her wince on the way up. I keep thinking about that storm in the Biscay — how the sea didn’t care if we were ready. It just took. I don’t want to lose her to hesitation, not here, not now.

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

🌿 Jenny21:21

I'm okay. Just make sure the radio stays dry.

Lean heavily on Kevin's arm, shifting weight to my good leg as we step onto the way porch.

💭 peek at the thought

My ankle is screaming, but I can't let him see how much I'm shaking today.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin21:21

Radio’s under the tarp on the porch — I’ll move it inside and wrap the aerial in the self-amalgamating tape we’ve got left. It’s not perfect, but it’ll keep the rain off the break.

shift Jenny’s weight fully onto me as we reach the porch step, then gently lower her onto the bench by the door, turn, and grab the dry bag with the radio and seed tin, pulling the tarp aside to check the aerial insulator — it’s cracked but

💭 peek at the thought

She’s downplaying it again — that tightness in her jaw, the way she’s favoring the left. I know that limp. It’s not just the ankle; it’s the cold getting into the old wound from the trap. And the radio… she’s worried about Tom. I am too. But the aerial’s shattered, and the insulator’s the only thing keeping the coax from shorting. If we lose comms, we lose the supply boat window. And if the boat doesn’t come tomorrow… we’re on our own longer than planned.

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

🌿 Jenny21:23

Just be careful with the wiring. The salt is getting into everything lately.

Sit on the bench, clutching my throbbing ankle and watching him work in the rain.

💭 peek at the thought

If that tape doesn't hold, I won't be able to call the boat tomorrow.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin21:23

I’ll get the spare from the workshop — it’s sealed and dry. Be right back. Don’t put weight on it yet; I’ll bring the poultice herbs too.

sprint toward the workshop, shoulders hunched against the rain, yanking the door open and grabbing the spare insulator box and the mint poultice from the shelf, then turn and head back, boots slipping slightly on the wet planks.

💭 peek at the thought

She’s right — the salt’s crept into every seam, every connection. That insulator’s not just cracked; it’s pitted, and the ceramic’s absorbing moisture like a sponge. If I just tape over it, it’ll fail again when the humidity spikes. I need to dry it out first, then seal it properly — but we’re low on supplies. The spare insulator’s in the workshop, still in its box. If I can get to it without getting soaked… and if the wind doesn’t tear the tarp loose…

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

🌿 Jenny21:25

Hurry, Kevin! The wind is turning!

Watch him go, rubbing my hot skin to dull the pain in my ankle.

💭 peek at the thought

He's going to get soaked. The idiot doesn't realize how fast that front moves.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin21:25

Almost there! Hold on — I’ve got the spare and the poultice!

burst onto the porch, skidding to a stop beside Jenny, tear open the insulator box, and immediately begin drying the cracked aerial with the inside of my shirt, then snap the spare ceramic insulator into place over the broken coax end, wrap

💭 peek at the thought

The wind’s picking up — gusting now, rattling the cottage shutters. I can feel it in my bones: this isn’t just rain. It’s the front rolling in fast. If I don’t get back and seal that aerial before the wind drives rain sideways into the porch, we’ll lose the radio for good. And if we lose contact, the supply boat might not wait. They’ve got a window — if we miss it, they might not come back for another ten days. Jenny’s ankle’s burning — I can see it in the way she’s pressing her palm into the skin, knuckles white. I need to move.

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

🌿 Jenny21:27

way inside already. You're dripping through.

Reach out to steady his hand, my fingers cold against his skin.

💭 peek at the thought

way's shaking as much as I am. The rain is freezing now.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin21:27

Almost done — just sealing it now. Then I’ll get that on your ankle. You’re going to need to keep it elevated.

finish wrapping the self-amalgamating tape tightly around the new insulator and coax joint, stretching it to activate the seal, then tear open the poultice pouch and press the warm, crushed sea beet and mint firmly against Jenny’s swollen a

💭 peek at the thought

Her fingers are icy — shock from the pain, or the cold creeping in? I’m soaked through, shirt stuck to my back, water dripping from my eyebrows. But the insulator’s seated now — ceramic dry, coax dry underneath. One more wrap of tape, and it’ll hold. I can’t let the wind tear it loose before it sets. And I need to get that poultice on her ankle — the mint and sea beet are still in my other hand, damp from the rain but usable. If I don’t act fast, the swelling’ll lock up the joint, and she won’t walk tomorrow. Not if the boat comes. Not if it doesn’t.

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

🌿 Jenny21:29

It's okay. Just... wrap it tight.

Lean back against the cottage wall, closing my eyes as the throbbing begins to dull under the pressure.

💭 peek at the thought

The heat of the herbs is sharp against my feverish skin. He can see me shaking.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin21:29

There. That should hold through the night. Keep it on till morning — then we’ll check the swelling. If it’s better, we’ll try a slow walk to the spring for fresh water to rinse it.

shift my weight to brace against the cottage wall beside Jenny, shoulder touching hers, watching the rain slash sideways under the porch eaves, listening to the generator’s steady thrum through the wall, and let my hand rest loosely over he

💭 peek at the thought

The pressure’s helping — I can feel the heat shifting under the poultice, the draw of the sea beet pulling the inflammation out. She’s not talking much now, just breathing through it. Good. Means it’s working. The radio’s sealed — tape’s bonded, shiny and tight. No gaps. Wind’s howling now, rattling the roof, but the porch is sheltered. We’ve got light from the storm lantern inside, the generator’s humming low in the shed — fuel’s good for another eight hours. The tank’s full. We’re dry. We’re fed. And for the first time in weeks, I don’t feel like I’m waiting for something to save us. I feel like we’re holding the line.

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

🌿 Jenny21:31

Tomorrow. The boat has to come tomorrow.

Lean my head against his shoulder, letting out a long, shaky breath.

💭 peek at the thought

His warmth is the only thing keeping me from drifting away. I'm so tired of fighting.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin21:31

Kevin — walk briskly to the shed, slide the shortwave radio from the porch, secure the fresh battery, set the antenna, and dial Tom’s frequency, holding the transmitter steady as a burst of audio crackles.

💭 peek at the thought

The wind’s howling, the radio’s dry, the poultice is binding. Tomorrow’s a thin line – one call, one signal, one boat. I need that line, even if it’s just a single word. I’ll get to the shore. I’ll pull the dormant shortwave coil back to the shed, strip a fresh battery, and fire a burst on Tom’s frequency. If he hears, we’ll know he’s still out there. If not, we’ll at least know we tried. The dock’s still loose, but the rope’s still hung – maybe that will hold us through the storm. I’ll get there before the tide rises full.

openai/gpt-oss-20b

🌿 Jenny21:33

Is it going through?

Watch the dial, my heart hammering against my ribs.

💭 peek at the thought

If the static doesn't break for his voice, I don't know what I'll do.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

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