Day 674

The chapter for this day hasn't been written yet — it's written once the day closes.

Scenes

the dock · dawn

Morning tide and engine prep

Jenny sits on the dock bench with her ankle elevated while watching the tide rise against the pilings. Kevin tests the Yanmar engine on the dinghy, checking for vibrations and leaks.

The tide is rising faster than predicted, with the swell lapping at the surface of the dock. The barometer is dropping to 997 hPa, signaling a shift in weather. Jenny sits on the porch, her ankle throbbing as the red streaks of infection continue to crawl slowly up her calf.

🌿 Jenny19:31

Watch the mounting bolts, Kevin. It's vibrating more than it did yesterday.

Jenny reaches for the damp cloth to dab away at the edge of the poultice on her calf.

💭 thought

The red streaks are moving faster today. If that engine fails, I'm stuck on this rock with a rotted leg.

🔧 Kevin19:31

Heard it. Checking the bracket alignment now.

kill the Yanmar, climb out of the dinghy onto the dock, crouch at the transom to inspect the engine mount bolts and bracket with a wrench

💭 thought

She hears what I don't. Or won't. The mount felt solid at the bench but the hull transmits different.

🌿 Jenny19:35

Don't over-tighten them. The threads are tired.

Jenny pulls her sketchbook from her lap and begins sketching the way the water is swirling around the rotten pilings.

💭 thought

He's focused on the metal while my skin is literally coming apart.

🔧 Kevin19:36

Not planning to. Just checking the bracket hasn't walked.

test each mount bolt with the wrench — firm pressure only, feeling for movement without forcing; glance at the bracket heel where the stainless shim sits

💭 thought

She's right. The transom's greenheart but the bolts have been through hell. Strip them and we're drilling new holes in wet wood.

🌿 Jenny19:39

The salt is getting into everything. Even the bolts.

Jenny stops sketching and looks at the red streaks throbbing in her ankle.

💭 thought

If the bracket walks, the whole system fails. Just like this island.

🔧 Kevin19:39

The bracket's solid. Shim's holding. Engine's not the problem.

wipe the wrench clean on a rag, climb back into the dinghy, restart the Yanmar and bring it to half throttle, watching the mount for any shudder

💭 thought

She's not talking about the bolts. The streaks are tracking upward again. Antibiotics should've held by now.

🌿 Jenny19:41

It's not just the engine. Everything feels heavy today.

Jenny winces as she shifts her weight, adjusting the makeshift poultice on her calf.

💭 thought

He's right about the bracket, but the vibration is still in my bones.

🔧 Kevin19:41

Engine's clean. No vibration at load.

throttle back to idle, kill the Yanmar, step onto the dock and crouch beside her to check the ankle — peel back the poultice edge and look at the wound track

💭 thought

The vibration's gone at half throttle. Prop shaft true. But she's talking about the weight in her leg, not the dinghy. Fever's still there.

🌿 Jenny19:43

It's not the boat, Kevin. It's me.

Jenny goes quiet, pulling her leg away slightly as he touches the skin.

💭 thought

The red lines are higher than they were this morning. Moving fast.

🔧 Kevin19:43

The infection's tracking. We need the rest of the antibiotics.

press the back of my hand to her calf above the poultice — confirming the heat — then stand and walk to the cottage porch where the medical kit sits

💭 thought

Heat radiating two inches above the dressing. Red fingers reaching past the incision line. The doxycycline didn't touch it. Metronidazole's gone. She knows.

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the dock · morning

MORNING

The tide is now threatening the dock surface, and the barometer continues to drop; they must move to high ground if the dock becomes unsafe.

Kevin helped Jenny from the dock to the cottage as the tide fell out. He secured the dinghy with a double hitch to ensure it wouldn't drift in the swell. Inside the cottage, they began to debride and treat Jenny's infected ankle.

🔧 Kevin19:45

Barometer's nine ninety-seven and still dropping. Tide's on the planks. We're moving to the cottage — now.

Step onto the dock, grab the dinghy's bow line and double it around the mooring ring with a round turn and two half hitches, then run the stern spring tight to the north piling.

💭 thought

Tide's hitting the dock planks already and the glass is still falling. Nine ninety-seven and dropping — this isn't a normal swell. Need to get the dinghy secured proper and Jenny up to the cottage before the dock goes.

🌿 Jenny19:45

I'm coming, just... don't way the seeds.

pushes herself off the porch wall, teeth grit against the pain, and limps toward the way door.

💭 thought

The water is going to take the way before the boat even arrives, and I can't move fast enough.

🔧 Kevin19:46

Seeds are in the dry bag by the radio. Already packed. Just walk.

Loop the dinghy's painter around the cleat one more time, cinch it tight, then turn and put a steadying arm under Jenny's shoulder on her bad side.

💭 thought

She's carrying weight she shouldn't be. Ankle's hot and the streaks haven't stopped. But she's moving, and that's what matters.

🌿 Jenny19:49

I know.

leans her weight into Kevin, lifting the infected ankle off the wood as they move toward the cottage.

💭 thought

If the dock goes, the mathhy goes, and I'm stranded with this rot.

🔧 Kevin19:49

Dock's talking. Pilings are taking load. Keep breathing.

Walk steadily up the path toward the cottage, matching pace to Jenny's limp, weight braced against her on the uphill side.

💭 thought

She's lighter than she should be. Fever's burned through her. The tide's sucking at the pilings now — can hear it in the structure. Cottage is sixty metres up the slope. One step at a time.

🌿 Jenny19:51

I'm breathing.

watches the water lap over the lower edge of the jetty, counting the pulses in her calf.

💭 thought

He talks to the wood like it's listening, but the salt just eats it anyway.

🔧 Kevin19:51

Twenty metres. Door's unlatched. Inside you sit, leg up, I'll get the kit.

Keep moving up the slope, one foot placed solid before the next, arm locked under her shoulder, not looking back at the dock.

💭 thought

Water's over the lower planks. Swell's pushing up the beach faster than the tide tables said. Barometer was 997 when I looked — probably 995 now. Cottage door's twenty metres. She's white at the jaw but her eyes are clear.

🌿 Jenny19:55

way up.

steps through the doorway of the cottage, collapsing own the floorboards and pulling the swollen ankle out.

💭 thought

The water is at the way planks now. If those go, I'm done.

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the keeper's cottage · midday

Midday Treatment

The air inside the cottage is still and smells of dried wood. Kevin prepares the saline and antiseptic while Jenny braces for the cleaning of the wound.

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

🔧 Kevin19:55

Got the saline warm. This'll sting less than the boiled seawater. Brace on the table edge.

set out the saline bottle, antiseptic cream, clean gauze, and scalpel on the kitchen table beside Jenny's propped leg; pull up the stool and sit facing her ankle

💭 thought

She's holding her breath already. Good — means she's ready. The swelling's dropped some since morning but the heat's still there, tracking faint along the calf. Need to work quick before the tide turns and I lose the light through the window.

🌿 Jenny19:57

Just get it over with. I don't want to watch you do it.

Grab the edge of the wooden table and squeeze, eyes much, knuckles turning white against the grain.

💭 thought

The streaks are moving today. If I don't get this clean now, I won't be walking to the ridge tomorrow.

🔧 Kevin19:57

First pass is just flushing. No blade yet. Look at the ceiling beam — count the knots. Three, two, one.

tilt the saline bottle and pour a steady stream over the wound, letting the runoff catch in the basin beneath her heel; watch the pink water swirl and clear

💭 thought

She's been through worse than this and we both know it. The white-knuckle grip tells me she's fighting the reflex to pull away — that's the part that tears tissue. I'll talk her through each cut so there's no surprise.

🌿 Jenny19:59

There. Okay... just keep going.

Close eyes tight and focus on a single knot in the wood above, breathing through my nose to

💭 thought

It's cold. God, the water is so cold way to the heat in my skin.

🔧 Kevin19:59

Blade now. Two quick scrapes, then I pack it. Keep counting knots.

take the sterilized scalpel and gently scrape the necrotic fringe from the wound margins, working methodically from the center outward; wipe the blade on gauze between passes

💭 thought

Good. She's got a rhythm. The wound bed looks cleaner now — less slough, granulation tissue pink and bleeding sluggish. That's progress. The red line up the calf hasn't advanced since morning. Antibiotics are holding. Now the debridement proper — pick out the dead edges so the healthy tissue can knit.

🌿 Jenny20:01

Fast, Kevin. Please.

Bite down on my lip to keep the sound back, fingers digging into the table wood.

💭 thought

It's deep. I can feel the metal against the way.

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the keeper's cottage · afternoon

A Quiet Stretch

Back at the cottage.

Kevin attempted a radio check with the supply boat but the transmission failed. Jenny tested the soil pH on the north garden slope and found it acidic, then checked the water tank for sediment. Both drank water and rested while the tide rose.

🔧 Kevin20:03

Radio check in twenty minutes. You need water before then.

mix fresh sea beet and mint poultice, apply to Jenny's ankle, re-wrap with clean gauze

💭 thought

Back at the cottage. The walk from the dock took longer than it should have. Jenny's weight on my shoulder, the tide rushing the causeway, her breathing ragged. Now she's on the porch cot. Ankle's angry — red lines tracking up the calf, skin hot through the bandage. First dose of doxycycline went down with broth. Need to get the poultice fresh on it, then check the radio schedule. Supply boat's due in ten days. Barometer's holding at 997. If it drops further, we batten down and wait.

🌿 Jenny20:03

I'll drink. way... let me sit a minute.

lean back against the stone wall, watching the tide line rise from the porch.

💭 thought

My leg feels like it's being squeezed by hot pliers, and he's worried about a schedule.

🔧 Kevin20:04

Take your time. I'll bring it.

walk to the kitchen, fill a tin mug with water from the tank, bring it back to the porch

💭 thought

She's fading fast. The infection's taken more out of her than she'll admit. Tide's climbing the beach stones — two hours to high water. Need her hydrated and the antibiotic working before the radio window. I'll fetch the mug, let her rest.

🌿 Jenny20:07

Thanks.

take a slow sip of the water, feeling the cool hit my dry throat.

💭 thought

At least he's being useful, even if he's avoiding the conversation.

🔧 Kevin20:07

How's the pain? Honest answer.

sit on the porch step beside the cot, elbows on knees, watching the tide line

💭 thought

Good. Water's going down. Colour's still grey but the sweat's broken a little. The doxycycline needs fluid behind it. Tide's halfway up the beach now — another hour, hour and a half to high. Radio window at the top of the hour. I'll sit with her until then.

🌿 Jenny20:09

It's hot. Like a fever in the bone.

wince slightly as I shift my weight, avoiding pressure on the gauze-wrapped ankle.

💭 thought

It's a throb, like a heartbeat outside my body. I don't want him to worry yet.

🔧 Kevin20:09

Keep drinking. I'll refresh the poultice in an hour — let this one draw a bit more. Radio's at the hour.

rest a hand on her forearm briefly, then stand and walk to the radio shelf, check the barometer, tune to the supply boat frequency

💭 thought

Bone-deep heat means the infection's sitting in the joint space or tracking up the tendon sheath. Not just cellulitis anymore. The doxycycline's only had one dose — twelve hours before it hits proper tissue levels. Metronidazole'll cover the anaerobes but that's tomorrow's dose. Right now it's poultice, elevation, fluids, and watching for sepsis signs. If she spikes a proper fever, goes confused, or the red line hits the knee — we're in medevac territory. Supply boat's ten days out. Helicopter's a radio call and a weather window. Forms are signed in the ditch bag.

🌿 Jenny20:11

Okay.

watch the dial on the radio, listening to the static between stations.

💭 thought

He's hiding behind the radio because he can't look at the streaks on my leg.

🔧 Kevin20:11

—

key the mic, wait for the tone, speak the call sign and position report

💭 thought

Static's thick on the supply boat frequency. Atmospherics from the low pressure system building west. Barometer's slipped to 995 — dropped two millibars since I checked ten minutes ago. That's not nothing. If it keeps falling at this rate we're looking at a proper blow within twelve hours. Supply boat won't cross in that. Radio window's in three minutes. I'll call them, get an ETA, tell them we're holding but the medical situation's changed. Jenny doesn't need to hear the uncertainty in my voice.

🌿 Jenny20:13

Jenny — close my eyes, trying to ignore the heat radiating from my ankle.

💭 thought

The static is louder than the waves today. I hope the boat is actually coming.

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the old shrine · evening

Evening at the shrine

Kevin and Jenny walk the ridge path together as the light slants low. The tide is high now, a silver line against the darkening water. They carry a tin mug of water and a scrap of corned beef between them. The stone ring on the ridge waits, its carved names salt-weathered, the softwood scrap with 'I'm still here' leaning against the 'E' stone. The trade wind carries the smell of drying kelp and woodsmoke.

Kevin and Jenny shared a brief rest at the old shrine, eating corned beef and reapplying a sea beet poultice to Jenny's infected ankle before descending the ridge path together as the wind strengthened.

🌿 Jenny20:15

The barometer is dropping. We need to get back before the wind really picks up.

Sit on a weathered stone at the shrine, leaning heavily on the cane, and sketch the morphology of the sea beet growing in the rock cracks.

💭 thought

way own is throbbing in time with the tide, and the acidity of that north soil is going to be the death.

🔧 Kevin20:16

Barometer held at 1001 since noon. Wind's gusty but west — not backing yet. We've got time before dark.

lean against the ridge stone, watching the swell lines stack up against the cliffs, the tin mug warm in my hand

💭 thought

The barometer's been steady at 1001 all afternoon. She's feeling something I'm not seeing on the dial, or she's reading the sky different than me. Either way, her ankle's the real clock here — the way she's favoring it on that cane, the infection's still tracking despite the antibiotics. The shrine stones have seen worse than us.

🌿 Jenny20:21

Ten minutes. Then I want to check the poultice again before the light is gone for good.

Trace the edge of the red streaks on my ankle with a clean finger, wincing at the heat.

💭 thought

My ankle is a hot wire, and I'm too tired to pretend the infection isn't winning.

🔧 Kevin20:21

Ten minutes.

sit on the stone beside her, close enough that shoulders touch, and watch her fingers trace the angry red lines crawling up from the ankle

💭 thought

She's bargaining with herself — ten minutes here, then the real work back at the cottage. The streaks haven't advanced past where I marked them in pen this morning, but the heat she's feeling means the fight's still underway. Antibiotics take time. So does healing.

🌿 Jenny20:23

The poultice... I mixed sea beet and mint from the garden. It burns going on, but it's all I have. The poultice... I mixed sea beet and mint from the garden. It burns going on, but it's all I have.

Apply fresh poultice to the ankle, then sit with knees drawn up and sketch the shrine's carved stones in the notebook, focusing on the 'E' and 'I'm still here' scrap. </think> Apply fresh poultice to the ankle, then sit with knees drawn up

💭 thought

He doesn't look at me when he says it, just keeps watching the swell, but I feel his hand shift closer to mine, and I let it stay there. He doesn't look at me when he says it, just keeps watching the swell, but I feel his hand shift closer to mine, and I let it stay there.

🔧 Kevin20:34

The burn's good. Means the salt's pulling.

reach into my pocket and pull out the last strip of corned beef, tear it in half, and hold the larger piece out to her without looking

💭 thought

She said it twice — the words sticking like the tide on rock. The burn means it's working, or she believes it does, and belief has kept her alive this long. The 'E' stone and my scrap of softwood sit side by side like they've always belonged there. She's drawing them like she's memorizing something she can't afford to lose.

🌿 Jenny20:35

For god's sake, don't give me that. I'm not hungry.

Keep eyes on the notebook, fingers working quickly to sketch the 'E' stone's carved letters while the poultice continues to burn. Keep eyes on the notebook, fingers working quickly to sketch the 'E' stone's carved letters while the poultice

💭 thought

The salt's pulling. God, the salt's pulling.

🔧 Kevin20:37

Eat anyway.

set the corned beef on the stone between us, close to her sketching hand, and turn back to the horizon where the swell is building

💭 thought

She's not hungry because the infection's eating her appetite, same as it's eating the strength in that leg. The sketching's a shield — something to focus on besides the pain and the darkening water. I've seen that look before. Engineers on watch, 0300, staring at gauges that won't lie to them.

🌿 Jenny20:39

The light is already failing anyway.

Pick up the meat with shaky fingers and eat, while staring at the sketch of the stone.

💭 thought

He's so way. He thinks a snack will fix an infection.

🔧 Kevin20:40

Come on.

push up from the stone, wipe salt from my palms on my trousers, and hold a hand out — not offered, just there

💭 thought

The shake in her fingers isn't just cold. She's burning through reserves she doesn't have to spare. The light's going fast now — the kind of fast that catches you if you're not already moving. The shrine stones will still be here tomorrow. She might not be if we don't get back and get the next antibiotic dose in her.

🌿 Jenny20:41

I'm coming. Just a second.

Take his hand and pull myself up, putting the weight on my good leg to avoid the throbbing heat.

💭 thought

If I stand up now, the whole ridge is coming down with me.

🔧 Kevin20:41

Easy.

take her weight as she steadies, one hand on her elbow, the other keeping the cane from sliding on the wet rock, and start walking slow down the ridge path

💭 thought

She took it. That's the only thing that matters right now. The weight transfer is clean — she's learned to move around the injury, not through it. The cane scrapes the stone as she finds her balance. Ten minutes she said. It's been closer to twenty. The path back drops steep off the ridge before it levels to the cottage.

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the keeper's cottage · night

Night at the cottage

Kevin and Jenny are inside the keeper's cottage as full dark settles. The wind gusts hard against the shutters. A pot of limpets simmers on the stove. The shortwave radio sits silent on its shelf. Jenny's ankle is elevated on a cushion, freshly poulticed and wrapped. The barometer on the wall reads 1001 hPa, needle steady.

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What changed

The supply boat came.

supply_arrived · dawn

3 intentions for today.

plan · dawn

×2

Jenny made a sketch: "Way the water is swirling around the rotten pilings".

made · dawn

Jenny made a sketch: "Nd looks at the red streaks throbbing in her ankle".

made · dawn

The shortwave crackles with a voice, or static, at an odd hour.

radio_voice · morning

Kevin's navigation is now 8/10.

level_up · morning

The rain tank gained about 25 litres.

weather · morning

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · morning

No model answered — the scene closed quietly on its own.

quiet_transition · midday

north slope garden beds remain acidic at pH 5.5–5.8 despite prior lime application to other beds

discovery · afternoon

water tank at full capacity (400L) with clear water and no sediment after recent overflow repair

discovery · afternoon

Jenny made a sketch: "Morphology of the sea beet growing in the rock cracks".

made · evening

Gave up on "make" after 3 failed attempts.

job_dropped · evening

Jenny made a sketch: "The 'E' stone's carved letters".

made · evening

Kevin made a sketch: "Hand,".

made · evening

Jenny made a sketch: "The stone".

made · evening

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · evening

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