the garden · day 677 · dawn

Morning drainage and soil check

Kevin kneels in the mud, clearing silt from the drainage trench to prevent the garden flooding. Jenny sits on a flat stone nearby, wrapping her ankle in gauze while she watches the heavy air for storm clouds.

The heavy, humid air hangs over the garden as the tide begins its slow climb toward the shore. Jenny sits on the porch bench, nursing her swollen ankle while watching Kevin as he prepares the tools for the morning's chores.

🌿 Jenny01:07

You're working too fast, Kevin. Slow down or you pass out before the rain even breaks.

Sketch the way the water is pooling in the trench in the notebook.

💭 peek at the thought

If that trench fails, the south slope will rot before the way even gets here.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin01:09

Trench is clear. Water's moving.

Sit back on heels, wipe mud from forearms onto thighs, watch the water flow through the cleaned drainage trench

💭 peek at the thought

She's not wrong. My hands know the rhythm but my legs are trembling from the antibiotics and three days of half-rations. The trench is running clear now anyway.

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

🌿 Jenny01:09

Good. Give your legs a rest, you're shaking.

Tighten the bandage on my ankle and wince.

💭 peek at the thought

At least the water is moving for now, but the pressure is still too low.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin01:10

You first. How's the ankle?

Stay crouched, watch her face instead of the wound, one hand braced on knee

💭 peek at the thought

She's shaking too, just not her legs. Her hands on the bandage — knuckles white. The fever's been climbing since midnight.

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

🌿 Jenny01:11

It's fine. Just the heat.

Look away at the grey horizon and watch the clouds.

💭 peek at the thought

It's throbbing like a second heart, but I can manage.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin01:12

Not the heat. The infection. You've got the chills.

Reach into pocket, pull out the thermometer, hold it out without looking at her

💭 peek at the thought

The heat. Right. Twenty-four degrees and the air thick enough to drink. She hasn't looked at the ankle once since she started wrapping it. The clouds are building southwest — same direction the last gale came from.

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

🌿 Jenny01:13

I'm not a patient, Kevin. I'm tired.

Take the thermometer and put it under my tongue.

💭 peek at the thought

He thinks he can see right through me because I'm quiet.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin01:14

Mm.

Keep mouth closed around the thermometer, wait, watch the horizon over her shoulder

💭 peek at the thought

She's deflecting. Always deflecting. The thermometer clicks in her hand — digital, from the supply crate. She won't meet my eyes. The clouds are lower now, bruised purple at the edges. Barometer was 1006 at dawn. Dropping.

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

🌿 Jenny01:15

Don't just stand there. Check the barometer again.

Wait for the beep while staring at the weeds in the garden.

💭 peek at the thought

If it's high, I won't be making the ridge tomorrow.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin01:16

Back in a minute.

Walk to the cottage porch, read the barometer, turn back toward the garden

💭 peek at the thought

She's giving me an out. A job to do so we don't have to say what we both know — that 39.2 means the antibiotics aren't holding, and the supply boat is seven days out if it comes at all. The barometer's on the porch. Thirty seconds there and back.

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.