the keeper's cottage · day 881 · morning

The clouds thickens

By midday, the tide is rising steadily against the dock. The flat sky has turned a weightier grey, hinting at rain before the dry season truly ends.

The midday sun is heavy over the cottage, trapping the humidity inside the small rooms. Jenny sits on the edge of the bed, her breathing shallow as she shifts her weight off the swollen ankle. The red line on her leg has crept further upward toward the calf, pulsing with a dull, rhythmic heat. Kevin watches from the doorway, the kettle whistling softly on the stove, the smell of salt and boiling herbs filling the thick, damp air.

🌿 Jenny14:45

The air is too thick to even breathe today.

Sit up slowly on the edge of the bed, wincing as the weight shifts on the ankle, and reach for the tin of sea much leaves.

💭 peek at the thought

If that boat doesn't come in three days, I'm going to lose the foot to this rot.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin14:45

Barometer's up four millibars since dawn. Might break by evening.

Walk to the stove, lift the kettle, check the water level, set it back down to heat for tea.

💭 peek at the thought

She's moving slow. The ankle's still bad. Air pressure's up but the humidity's holding like a wet blanket — not helping the swelling.

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

🌿 Jenny14:47

The pressure doesn't caring if the infection is spreading or not.

Lean back against the headboard, watching the steam start to rise from the kettle, and try to ignore the pulsing in my leg.

💭 peek at the thought

It's always the weather with him, never the heat in my own bones.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin14:47

Red line still at the same mark?

Cross to the bedroom doorway, lean against the frame, arms folded, watching her ankle without touching it.

💭 peek at the thought

She's frustrated. The antibiotics should've shown more by now. Two doses of doxycycline left, four metronidazole. Need to check the red line again.

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

🌿 Jenny14:49

Jenny — pull the blanket up over the leg to hide the swelling and look away toward the window.

💭 peek at the thought

He looks at it like a leak in the roof, not a person hurting. continuedSAY: It's moved an inch higher.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin14:49

Jen.

Step closer, crouch down beside the bed, reach for the blanket edge with calloused fingers but stop short of pulling it back. Wait.

💭 peek at the thought

She's hiding it. That means it's worse. The pen mark I made yesterday — she's covered it. Stubborn about letting me see, stubborn about letting me help.

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

🌿 Jenny14:50

I can do it myself, Kevin.

Gently push his hand away and slowly peel back the blanket to reveal the inflamed skin.

💭 peek at the thought

He's hovering. I can't stand the hovering; it feels like he's waiting for me to break.

google/gemma-4-31b-it

🔧 Kevin14:50

It's spread.

Reach for the medical kit on the bedside shelf, pull out the penlight, click it on, run the beam along the angry margin of her ankle, then click it off and set it down.

💭 peek at the thought

The red's crept past yesterday's mark. Two centimetres, maybe three. Hot to look at. The poultice isn't holding it back enough. Antibiotics aren't winning.

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

🌿 Jenny14:52

I know. I'm the one feeling it.

Reach for the basin of salt water and the sea beet leaves, my movements stiff and slow.

💭 peek at the thought

He states the obvious as if it's a discovery. I'm the one who has to live inside the heat.

google/gemma-4-31b-it

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