the keeper's cottage · day 780 · midday

A Quiet Stretch

Back at the cottage.

Jenny debrided her infected ankle with saline and a scalpel, removing necrotic tissue cleanly. Kevin fired the Yanmar in the dinghy under load for ten minutes; the vibration above half throttle persisted, confirming the prop shaft alignment or mast bracket is still off. The shortwave check on 2182 at 0900 reached the supply boat captain, who confirmed arrival in three days at high tide with a two-hour wait window.

🌿 Jenny01:19

(Silence, watching the clouds.)

Walk to the back of the cottage and check the water level in the 400-litre rain tank.

💭 peek at the thought

The sky is getting heavy again. If it opens up before the boat comes, the north ridge path will be a slide.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin01:19

Tank's at three-ninety-seven. Same as dawn. Same as noon.

watch her from the porch step, mug cooling in my hands

💭 peek at the thought

She's checking the tank again. Third time today. The clouds are thick enough to fill it twice over if they'd just break, but they've been holding all morning. Barometer's steady at 988 — not dropping, not rising. Supply boat's due in four days if the weather holds. She knows the numbers as well as I do. She's not checking water. She's checking time.

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

🌿 Jenny01:21

It's enough for now.

Rub the bridge of my nose and look out at the half-weeded garden behind the cottage.

💭 peek at the thought

Three-ninety-seven. Enough for a week, but the island is greedy and I'm greedier.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin01:21

The lime's in the shed. Two sacks. Damp but intact.

set the mug down on the porch rail, wipe my hands on my thighs

💭 peek at the thought

"For now." That's the phrase that lives here. Enough for now. The garden's half weeds because I talked about it for ten months and built nothing. She knows. I know. The rain tank's full but the soil's still salt-sick in the low beds. She's looking at the beds I didn't lime, the wall I didn't finish raising, the shade cloth the crab shredded. Her ankle's propped on the porch rail, swollen past the brace. Four days to the boat. Maybe.

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

🌿 Jenny01:23

I'll check them after my ankle.

Turn away and head toward the kitchen to get the saline and the scalpel.

💭 peek at the thought

Intact is better than rotted through. I need that for the ridge pockets.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin01:23

I'll heat water. Fresh poultice when you're done.

turn toward the kitchen, pull the kettle toward the stove, throw in an armful of kindling

💭 peek at the thought

She's going to debride it herself. Again. The last gauze strip went on this morning — pus and blood through the center, red line tracking two centimeters past the poultice margin. She didn't show me. I saw the used dressing in the burn bag. Antibiotics are eight days out if the boat comes on schedule. Four days to the boat. The math doesn't work. She thinks it does. Or she's stopped caring if it works.

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.