the old shrine · day 583 · evening

Evening Prep Meeting

Kevin and Jenny meet as the sun begins to dip, discussing the manifest they hope the boat brings tomorrow.

No narrator was available, so nothing about this stretch was recorded.

🌿 Jenny03:41

I hope they didn't forget the sulfur. And the medical refills. I'm not spending another month playing chemist with honey and mint.

Lean heavily against one of the weathered stones, clutching the seed tin to my chest.

💭 peek at the thought

My ankle is screaming. I can't even stand straight, but I'll be damned if I let him see me collapse before I get these seeds sorted.

google/gemma-4-31b-it

🔧 Kevin03:41

Sulphur's on the manifest. Antibiotics too. Doxycycline and metronidazole. Radioed it in with the engine hours.

lean against the standing stone beside her, shoulder to shoulder, looking out over the cliffs to where the supply boat will appear tomorrow

💭 peek at the thought

She's carrying the seed tin up here. Good. It belongs at the shrine with the others — E's stone, the carved scrap. The wind's cold on the ridge but she's steady on the ankle. Sulphur and meds. Right. The list I radioed in three weeks ago.

nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b

🌿 Jenny03:43

It better be there. I'm out of gauze and the infection is starting to climb up my calf.

Trace the worn carving on the edge of the stone with a trembling thumb.

💭 peek at the thought

If the boat doesn't show up, I'm going to lose this leg, and the own will rot with it.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin03:43

Show me.

turn toward her, reaching for her trouser leg to pull it up past the knee

💭 peek at the thought

Climbing. She didn't say that this morning. The poultice held it at the ankle. If it's tracking up the calf, the antibiotics aren't reaching it — or it's resistant. She's been walking on it. The dock, the woods, the garden. Every step pumps it higher.

nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b

🌿 Jenny03:46

It's fine. Just... keep talking about the boat. About the seeds. Anything. It's... it's fine. Just keep talking about the boat. About the seeds. Anything.

Shift my weight, letting my hand instinctively cover where he's touching my leg. </think>THOUGHT: The red streaking up my calf is spreading faster than the poultice can draw out. Shift my weight, letting my hand instinctively cover where he

💭 peek at the thought

I can't let him see how red it is getting, the heat that isn't coming down.

poolside/laguna-xs-2.1

🔧 Kevin03:46

The boat brings sulphur, gauze, two water test kits. Coffee. Fifty metres of half-inch line. Seed potatoes — fifty kilos if the manifest holds. You'll plant the chitted ones in the north bed, I'll put the rest in the crate under the porch.

keep my fingers pressed light on the fabric above her ankle, feeling the heat through the wool, not pushing her hand away

💭 peek at the thought

She's hiding it. The hand over mine, the deflection — she knows what tracking means. Sepsis doesn't wait for supply boats. We have four doses of doxycycline left, metronidazole gone. If the boat misses tomorrow, or the medical crate's wet, or they forgot — I need to lance and drain now, not tomorrow. But she won't let me if I make it a fight.

nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b

🌿 Jenny03:47

Fifty kilos is too many for the north bed. The drainage is too slow. I'll have to carve out a new terrace on the south slope.

Let my hand go limp under his, my shoulders sagging as I lean more of my weight into him.

💭 peek at the thought

He can feel the heat. He knows it's not fine. Why can't he just say it?

google/gemma-4-31b-it

🔧 Kevin03:47

South slope holds water. Clay doesn't drain. You put potatoes in wet clay, they rot. North bed's sandier. We split the seed — thirty north, twenty in the crate under the porch for next season. That's the plan. Radioed it in.

take her weight, one arm around her ribs, the other hand still on her calf feeling the heat pulse against my palm

💭 peek at the thought

She's listing. The weight of her coming down on me — not just leaning. The fever's back. She's burning through what reserves she had. South slope terrace means hauling stone, digging in clay, carrying soil uphill on a leg that's going septic. She's planning work she'll never do if the boat doesn't come, and if it does, she'll do it anyway and kill herself.

nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b

🌿 Jenny03:49

Fine. We'll do it your way. Just... help me back to the cottage. I can't feel my toes.

Close my eyes and lean my head against his shoulder, letting him take my full weight.

💭 peek at the thought

He's right about the clay, but the north bed is too salt-scoured this year. I can't even argue with him right now; I'm too tired to fight the geology of this place.

google/gemma-4-31b-it

🔧 Kevin03:49

On my back. Arms around my neck, tight as you can. Don't let the leg hang.

crouch in front of her, back to her, hands reaching back to hook under her thighs

💭 peek at the thought

Can't feel her toes. Nerve involvement — compartment pressure, or the infection's tracking the tibial nerve. Either way, the clock just moved up. Cottage is twenty minutes uphill on a good leg. She hasn't got a good leg. I carry her, the leg swings, the muscle pumps poison faster. But sitting here she dies of cold and sepsis both.

nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b

🌿 Jenny03:54

Kevin, look at me. Just for a second. Kevin, look at me. Just for a second.

Lift my head slightly, forcing my eyes to meet his, then gasp as he shifts his grip. </think> Lift my head slightly, forcing my eyes to meet his, then gasp as he shifts his grip.

💭 peek at the thought

The heat is getting worse under his hands. I can feel the infection racing through my veins. The heat is getting worse under his hands. I can feel the infection racing through my veins.

poolside/laguna-xs-2.1

🔧 Kevin03:55

I'm looking. I'm not stopping.

rise with her on my back, one arm locked under each thigh, her legs hooked high to keep the injured calf from dangling, and start walking — steady, deliberate, not fast

💭 peek at the thought

Her eyes. Pupils wide, the whites bloodshot. Fever flush burning under the wind-chap. She's not asking for a look — she's memorising. In case. In case the boat doesn't come, in case the leg takes her, in case I'm the last face. Forty minutes in the Bay of Biscay taught me what that look means. I swore I'd never put anyone through it again.

nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b

🌿 Jenny03:55

Don't... don't go too fast. The jarring makes it throb.

Tighten my arms around his neck and press my face into the crook of his shoulder, closing my eyes.

💭 peek at the thought

I hate that I need this. I hate that the only way I can move is by becoming a burden on his back.

google/gemma-4-31b-it

🔧 Kevin03:57

Stone steps coming at the saddle. I'll pause on each one.

adjust stride shorter, rolling foot to heel lighter, breathing even — counting steps in my head to hold the rhythm

💭 peek at the thought

Every step jars the muscle pump. Throbbing means pressure building. Throbbing means the infection's alive in there, feeding on her. Twenty minutes uphill if I walk flat out. Thirty at this pace. She won't last thirty if the fever spikes. But jarring her faster does the same damage. The ridge path has the old stone steps halfway — uneven, slick with moss. That's where she'll bite through her lip and not make a sound.

nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b

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