the keeper's cottage · day 621 · afternoon

Afternoon Fever Watch

The tide has begun to turn, and the air in the cottage is heavy with the smell of vinegar and sea herbs.

The air in the cottage is thick and humid, smelling of salt and drying sea beet. Jenny lies on the cot, her skin slick with a cold sweat as the fever begins to break with the turning tide. Kevin watches the barometer, noting the slow rise in pressure, while preparing a fresh saline poultice for the ankle.

🌿 Jenny00:45

Is it... out yet?

Reach for the damp cloth to wipe the sweat from my eyes, fingers shaking too much to hold a pencil.

💭 peek at the thought

The infection is moving toward my knee; I can feel the heat in my thigh like a drum that won't stop beating.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin00:46

The tide's turning. Letter's in the dry bag on the dinghy. Infection's draining — pus thinned to serous by dawn. You're past the worst.

Press the back of my hand to her forehead, checking temperature, then reach for the tin mug of broth on the table beside her.

💭 peek at the thought

She's asking about the letter. Or the infection. Or both. The tremor in her fingers tells me the fever's not fully broken, no matter what the pulse says.

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

🌿 Jenny00:47

The boat... did they hear the radio?

Close my eyes and listen to the sound of the water against the stone walls.

💭 peek at the thought

If the boat doesn't come in three days, I won't be strong enough to plant the seeds.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin00:48

Radio's quiet. Coastguard didn't answer after the storm. Supply boat's due in three days. We hold the dock and the engine until then.

Lift the tin mug to her lips, steadying the base with my other hand.

💭 peek at the thought

She's drifting in and out. The radio's been silent since 2200 — coastguard didn't raise us after the Mayday relay. Supply boat's due in three days if the weather holds. She needs to know we're not waiting on rescue.

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

🌿 Jenny00:49

I need to finish the sea beet sketch.

Take a small, shaky sip of the broth, the warmth hitting my parched throat.

💭 peek at the thought

Three days is an eternity when your blood feels like it's boiling.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin00:50

The sketch isn't going anywhere. The salt glands aren't moving. Drink the broth.

Keep the mug at her lips, letting her set the pace, my thumb brushing the back of her wrist where the pulse sits steady at 94.

💭 peek at the thought

She's lucid enough to think about work. That's better than the alternative. The sketch can wait — her hand's still shaking and the notebook pages are damp anyway. But arguing wastes breath she doesn't have.

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

🌿 Jenny00:51

I'm... not hungry.

Swallow the liquid, the salt and mint sticking to my tongue as I lean back against the pillow.

💭 peek at the thought

I'm too tired to even argue, but the weight of the mug feels like lead.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin00:52

You don't have to be hungry. Just drink.

Lower the mug when she turns her head, set it on the table within reach, and pull the blanket up to her chin where it's slipped.

💭 peek at the thought

She's not hungry because the fever's been eating her for three days. Broth's the only thing that's stayed down. She needs more than salt and mint, but her stomach decides what it keeps.

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

🌿 Jenny00:53

Is the tide coming in?

Reach out a hand to touch the edge of the blanket, feeling the rough wool.

💭 peek at the thought

The room is too quiet, and the fever is loud in my ears.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin00:54

Coming in. Turned about an hour past. Dock's holding.

Settle back on the stool beside the bed, close enough that my knee brushes the mattress, and pick up the notebook from the table — the one with the sea beet sketches — turning it over in my hands without opening it.

💭 peek at the thought

She's orienting. The tide turned a while ago — coming in now. She knows the rhythm of this place better than the clock on the wall.

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

🌿 Jenny00:55

Don't... the pages.

Trace my fingers over the cover of the notebook, feeling the grit of salt on the leather.

💭 peek at the thought

He's looking at the drawings again like they'll save the world.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin00:56

Not writing. Just holding it.

Set the notebook back on the table, spine down, and wipe my hands on my thighs — salt grit and dried poultice residue — then reach for the mug again, offering it without words.

💭 peek at the thought

She thinks I'm going to write in it. Or that the salt on my fingers will ruin what's there. The pages are already damp-curled at the edges — one more fingerprint won't kill them. But she's protective of the work. Always has been.

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.