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Day 869

The Threshold of Rot

The rain hammered the cottage roof, a rhythmic drumming that drowned out the midday silence. Inside, the air was heavy with the scent of damp earth and drying sea beet. The water tank had reached its absolute limit, and the overflow pipe began to gurgle into the basin. Jenny sat at the table, her pencil lead snapping as she sketched the widening fractures in the sill plate, her jaw tight with the stress of the storm. Kevin tested the tank water with the new kit and found it clean, but his inspection of the shortwave aerial seal revealed the coax shield braid was frayed at the wall penetration. He began running the spare coax from the supply crate. Meanwhile, Jenny traced the sill plate rot fractures in her sketchbook and debrided her ankle, finding the infection boundary had not spread beyond the marked line. The sea beet-mint-honey poultice appeared to be containing the infection. By afternoon, the rain intensified, masking the sound of the rising surf. The heirloom seed tin sat on the kitchen table, wrapped in newspaper and tucked into an oilskin pouch—a temporary defense against the moisture already seeping through the rusted metal. Kevin attempted to reinforce the decaying dock but found the wood was too far gone to hold the bolts. Jenny focused on the garden, mapping the rot patterns on the north ridge where the decay had now bypassed the primary stability marker.

The rain hammered the cottage roof, a rhythmic drumming that drowned out the midday silence. Inside, the air was heavy with the scent of damp earth and drying sea beet. The water tank had reached its absolute limit, and the overflow pipe began to gurgle into the basin. Jenny sat at the table, her pencil lead snapping as she sketched the widening fractures in the sill plate, her jaw tight with the stress of the storm. Kevin tested the tank water with the new kit and found it clean, but his inspection of the shortwave aerial seal revealed the coax shield braid was frayed at the wall penetration. He began running the spare coax from the supply crate. Meanwhile, Jenny traced the sill plate rot fractures in her sketchbook and debrided her ankle, finding the infection boundary had not spread beyond the marked line. The sea beet-mint-honey poultice appeared to be containing the infection. By afternoon, the rain intensified, masking the sound of the rising surf. The heirloom seed tin sat on the kitchen table, wrapped in newspaper and tucked into an oilskin pouch—a temporary defense against the moisture already seeping through the rusted metal. Kevin attempted to reinforce the decaying dock but found the wood was too far gone to hold the bolts. Jenny focused on the garden, mapping the rot patterns on the north ridge where the decay had now bypassed the primary stability marker.

Scenes

the keeper's cottage · dawn

The Rising Pressure and Rain

Kevin and Jenny sit on the porch overhang as the rain begins to lash the roof. Jenny adjusts the poultice on her ankle while Kevin watches the barometer needle twitch upward against the falling glass.

The heavy wet season rain hammers the cottage, making any outdoor work nearly impossible. Kevin stays inside to monitor the rising barometer and the water tank, while Jenny struggles with the pain of her throbbing ankle in the damp air.

🌿 Jenny03:49

The wind is shifting, Kevin. We need to move the seed tin inside the kitchen.

Trace the new rot fractures on the sill plate with a pencil in the notebook.

💭 thought
The pressure is dropping too fast for this to stay dry; the sill plate is going to give before the boat even arrives.
🔧 Kevin03:50

Wind's backing west. Ten more degrees and the overhang's useless. Tin goes on the stove shelf — warm, dry, above the splash line.

stand, pull the heavy rusted tin (E) from the porch floor, carry it through the kitchen door and set it on the stove shelf atop the folded newspaper, then return to the porch and lean against the jamb watching the barometer

💭 thought
The barometer's rising but the wind's backing west — that's not a clearing trend, that's the front wrapping around. She's right about the tin; the porch overhang won't keep driving rain off it if the wind shifts another ten degrees. The sill plate rot she's tracing... that fracture line's already past the stability mark. Water's getting in underneath.
🌿 Jenny03:51

It's safe there. For now.

Adjust the damp poultice on my ankle and w at the rain.

💭 thought
He's right about the wind, but he's not seeing the wood. The wood is drinking the water now.
🔧 Kevin03:52

Ankle still hot?

glance at her ankle, then up at the roof line where the tarp battening meets the chimney flashing

💭 thought
She's favouring the left leg more today. The poultice is holding the infection back but the swelling hasn't dropped. She won't say it hurts. The rain's hitting horizontal now — west-northwest, steady. The garden tarp's going to take a beating.
🌿 Jenny03:53

It's throbbing. The humidity is making the swelling worse.

Tighten the wrap on the poultice and wince as I shift my weight.

💭 thought
It feels like a drum under the skin, beating in time with the rain.
🔧 Kevin03:54

Keep it elevated. I'll check the garden tarp corners before the wind tears them loose — back in ten.

step off the porch into the rain, pull the oilskin hood low, and walk toward the garden beds where the shade cloth anchors are shredded and the tarp corners flap

💭 thought
Throbbing means pressure building. The antibiotics are in but they need time. Humidity's keeping the wound from drying — same problem as the epoxy, same as the timber. She's tough but this isn't something toughness fixes. The wrap's clean, gauze holding. Two rolls left in the kit. Doxycycline and metronidazole both started. Need to watch for fever.

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the keeper's cottage · morning

waiting out the downpour

The rain has slowed to a steady drizzle, but the sky remains grey. You and Jenny are inside as the fire flickers low.

Kevin tested the tank water with the new kit and found it clean, then inspected the shortwave aerial seal and discovered the coax shield braid is frayed at the wall penetration. He began running the spare coax from the supply crate. Jenny traced the sill plate rot fractures in her sketchbook and debrided her ankle, finding the infection boundary has not spread beyond the marked line.

🔧 Kevin03:54

Barometer's steady. Gonna test the tank and spring water before the pressure drops again. Then head up to the north ridge — see if the fracture line's moved past where Jenny marked it.

pull the new water test kit from the shelf, tear open the foil, dip a strip in the tank overflow spout, wait the thirty seconds, compare to the colour chart, log the reading in the notebook

💭 thought
The barometer's holding steady at 981. Rain easing means I can actually get to the north ridge today and see if those tension cracks have moved since Jenny's sketch. Tank's full anyway — 400 litres off the roof. Might as well test the water while the air's still.
🌿 Jenny03:57

The ridge is a mud slide right now. Wait for the rain to break, or you'll be measuring your own fractures.

Reach for my sketchbook and begin tracing the exact pattern of the sill plate rot to keep my hands from shaking.

💭 thought
If he goes up to the ridge in this humidity, he'll slip on the shale and take a hip-out fall.
🔧 Kevin03:57

Not going up in this. Just the tank test and the radio aerial check from the porch. The spring sample can wait for a break.

set the used test strip aside, cap the kit, move to the radio on the shelf, unscrew the coax connector, inspect the self-amalgamating tape seal on the aerial lead where it passes through the wall, key the mic on 2182

💭 thought
She's not wrong. The clay up there turns to soup with this much rain. But the barometer's holding and the supply boat's due in five days — if the wall goes, the garden goes with it. She's tracing the rot pattern to steady herself, not me. Her ankle's still bad.
🌿 Jenny03:59

The aerial's secure where I installed it. But the coax shield continuity failed before—check the splice point inside the shack.

Grab my magnifying glass and move to the old coax cable coiled on the porch to inspect the connector joint.

💭 thought
That tape seal looks fresh from yesterday's repair, but I need to see if the connections are holding under this moisture.
🔧 Kevin03:59

Right. The splice inside.

uncoil the old coax from the porch, bring it inside, strip back the splice sheath with the knife, check the shield braid connection under the magnifying glass Jenny's holding, find the broken strand where the cable flexes against the wall b

💭 thought
She installed the insulator and sealed the wall penetration. Would've checked the splice herself if her ankle let her climb the mast bracket. The old coax failed continuity last month — she's right to check the splice before I waste a call.
🌿 Jenny04:01

It's not just the wire, Kevin. Look how the braid is frayed. It'll lose the signal again tomorrow.

Sit on the edge of the cot andion to remove the poultice from my ankle, wincing as the throb peaks.

💭 thought
He's looking at a wire while the house is literally turning to mush under our feet.
🔧 Kevin04:01

New coax in the crate. I'll run it today if the rain holds. Leave the poultice — soak it off later, don't tear it.

set the old coax aside, pull the spare coax roll from the supply crate, measure the run from radio to mast bracket, cut the length with a spare foot at each end, start stripping the first end for the PL-259 connector

💭 thought
She's right. The braid's eaten through where it flexes against the wall bracket — salt and wind did it. Splicing it again's a waste. Need the new coax roll from the supply crate. Her ankle's worse than she's letting on. The poultice is sticking to the wound.

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the keeper's cottage · midday

Midday meal and radio check

Kevin and Jenny sit at the cottage table with tin mugs of limpet broth and the last of the corned beef. The shortwave sits quiet on the shelf, the new coax run complete. Through the window the rain has eased to a mist. The barometer reads 981 hPa steady. Jenny's ankle is elevated on a cushion, the fresh poultice wrapped. Kevin's notebook is open to the supply boat ETA confirmation.

The rain continues steadily against the cottage roof, a rhythmic drumming that drowns the midday silence. Inside, the air is heavy with the scent of damp earth and drying sea beet. The water tank has reached its absolute limit, the overflow pipe beginning to gurgle into the basin, while Jenny sits at the table, her pencil lead snapping as she sketches the widening fractures in the sill plate, her jaw tight with the stress of the storm.

🔧 Kevin04:03

Supply boat confirmed for three days' time at high tide. Two-hour window.

make letter: Update from Sorrel Island - all systems go for supply boat ETA sit down beside Jenny and place my hand briefly on her ankle, then pull back quickly close my notebook and slide it toward the door to dry

💭 thought
The barometer's steady at 981 - that's our window, but I can't stop thinking about Tom's letter still sitting unopened on the table. Jenny's hands were steady at breakfast, but I saw her read that envelope twice this morning. The new coax connection held - good work, but it doesn't matter if the supply boat's diverted like the coast guard said. My hands are itching to build something, anything, but the garden's still half-weeds and I promised her a sensory garden. The ankle poultice worked on the infection, but she's still limping worse than I remember. I should say something about Tom, but I never did say what I saw her reading.
🌿 Jenny04:05

Three days. We need to be ready for the tide, not the boat.

reach for the seed tin and thumbs the cold metal of the lid.

💭 thought
He's looking at the clock while I'm looking at the wood. The house is eating itself.
🔧 Kevin04:05

Tin's sealed. Seeds are dry. Garden's ready if the wall holds.

reach for my mug and blow across the broth, watching the steam curl glance at the barometer on the wall - 981, steady tap the table once with a calloused finger

💭 thought
She's right. The tide decides everything here - the boat just shows up when it can. That tin's been sitting on the stove shelf drying for weeks, rust eating through the bottom seam. Heirloom seeds, grandmother's tomatoes, peppers, sea beet. If the supply boat comes through, we restock. If not, what's in that tin and what we've got growing is what carries us through next season. She's thinking ahead like she always does. I'm still stuck on the rot in the north ridge wall and the fracture line past the stability mark.
🌿 Jenny04:07

The wall is already losing the fight, Kevin.

pick up your pencil and begin sketching the new cracks in the sill plate on the margin of the map.

💭 thought
If the wall doesn't hold, the seeds don't matter. The rot is moving upward.
🔧 Kevin04:11

Intercept trench at the northeast foundation needs another half metre. Timber's too wet for expansion anchors to bite.

set the mug down untouched stand and walk to the porch door, pull it open a crack to test the air turn back toward the workshop corner where the auger and mattock lean

💭 thought
She's not wrong. The fracture line crossed the stability mark three days ago. Epoxy anchors failed twice - humidity's too high for cure. Mechanical expansion anchors are the only play left, but I need drier timber to seat them proper. The tide's working against us and the generator pump can't keep up with groundwater. She's mapping it cold and clean while I'm still cursing drills. Should've started the intercept trench deeper last week.
🌿 Jenny04:12

Then we use the bolts. We don't have time for the wood to dry.

sit back down and stare at the sketch, the pencil lead snapping against the paper.

💭 thought
He wants to talk about anchors while the Foundation is turning to mush.
🔧 Kevin04:12

One bolt left. Wet timber won't hold threads. But we can epoxy the mortise first, pack it with oak wedges vertical grain like the mooring ring. Buy the bond time to cure under compression.

walk to the workshop drawer, pull out the 10mm stainless rod and thread die set set them on the table beside her sketch pull the oak wedges from the shelf - six, vertical grain, dry

💭 thought
She's talking about the last 150mm stainless through-bolt - the one staged at the east shutter with washers and nyloc nut. The final spare from the original supply. Used the other two on the north piling sister and the starboard stringer joint. If we drive it into wet timber, the threads won't hold in the softened grain. But she's right about time. The fracture line's moving. The wall goes, the garden goes, the seed stock goes. One bolt. One chance to sister the sill before the next swell. I've got the 10mm stainless rod (~300mm) in the workshop drawer and the thread die set. Could cut new bolts if the lathe holds, but that's hours we don't have.
🌿 Jenny04:15

If the epoxy doesn't take, the whole sill goes.

reach for the seed tin and check the moisture in the grandmother's seeds.

💭 thought
He's talking about epoxy and wedges while the house is literally dissolving. The humidity is the enemy.
🔧 Kevin04:15

Then we sister it with greenheart. Two cores staged under the eaves, bolt holes pre-drilled. Steel doubler plate on the outside. Through-bolt the lot. Wood holds when glue won't.

cross to the porch and haul in the two greenheart sister plates - dense, dark, pre-drilled set them heavy on the table beside the rod and wedges pull the steel doubler plate from the corner where it's been staged since the dock repair

💭 thought
She's checking the seeds because if the wall fails, the garden floods with salt water and the heirloom stock is done. Grandmother's tomatoes, peppers, sea beet - generations of selection for this soil, this salt, this wind. The tin's bottom seam is corroded through. Rust flakes on the newspaper. She knows what I know: the epoxy's tacky from humidity, the tub's nearly empty, last residue used on the mortise packing. If the bond fails under load, the sill rots through in a week. The tide doesn't wait. But she's not saying don't do it. She's saying be ready for what comes after.
🌿 Jenny04:17

Greenheart will work, but we have to be precise with the placement.

pick up the pencil and trace the exact fracture lines on the sill plate one last time.

💭 thought
He's finally talking about structural reinforcement, but it's so deep into the rot.

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the keeper's cottage · afternoon

The Rising Tide and the Failing Wall

Kevin and Jenny meet in the kitchen as the rain intensifies, the supply boat still five days away, while the cottage foundation continues to groan.

The rain lashes against the cottage roof, a relentless drumming that masks the sound of the rising surf. Inside, the air is heavy with humidity, smelling of damp earth and old wood. The heirloom seed tin sits on the kitchen table, wrapped in newspaper and tucked into an oilskin pouch, a temporary defense against the moisture that is already seeping through the rusted metal.

🌿 Jenny04:17

The artwork is starting. We need to move the seed tin before the floor swells.

Jenny sets down her pencil and stands slowly, wincing as her weight shifts her ankle.

💭 thought
The tank is full, the sill is rotting, and I'm terrified of losing my grandmother's legacy to this damp rot.
🔧 Kevin04:18

Grab the other end. Slow.

step to the heavy rusted tin marked E on the stove shelf, crouch and get a solid grip under the bottom seam

💭 thought
She's right. The northeast corner's been weeping for days — if the floor lifts, the tin's gone. And she's moving too slow on that ankle.
🌿 Jenny04:19

way, the seam is corroded through.

Jenny reaches for the cold metal, her fingers trembling slightly as she braces herself for the weight.

💭 thought
If the bottom gives way, the seeds are lost to the mud and I will never forgive myself.
🔧 Kevin04:20

I've got it. You steady the lid.

slide both hands under the tin's base, take the full weight onto my forearms, and lift it clear of the shelf in one smooth motion

💭 thought
She's shaking. The weight's too much for her wrist on that ankle. I'll take the load.
🌿 Jenny04:21

way. The lid is loose from the humidity.

Jenny places her hand on the top of the tin, pressing down to keep it shut as they move toward the table.

💭 thought
He's being careful for once, but the wood under us is still screaming louder than he can hear.
🔧 Kevin04:22

Table clear?

carry the tin steady to the kitchen table, set it down gentle on the newspaper sheet already there

💭 thought
Good. She's thinking ahead — lid stays on, seeds stay dry. Table's the only flat surface not leaking.
🌿 Jenny04:23

It's clear. way... don't jar it.

Jenny pulls the chair out and sits heavily, her ankle throbbing in time with the rain on the roof.

💭 thought
At least it's off the floor, but the air in here feels like a weight.
🔧 Kevin04:24

Sit. I'll check the seal.

rest one hand on the tin lid to hold it fast, wipe the rusted rim with a thumb, checking the corroded seam for gaps

💭 thought
She's white at the jaw. The antibiotics should've kicked harder by now. Tin's down safe. Now she needs off that foot.
🌿 Jenny04:25

The metal is weeping. You can see it pitting.

Jenny leans forward, watching the gap where the lid meets the tin, her breath held.

💭 thought
If the moisture gets in, the whole batch will mold before they ever hit the soil.
🔧 Kevin04:26

Newspaper's dry. Wrap it tight, then the oilskin pouch. Buys us time.

peel the newspaper sheet from under the tin, fold it up and over the lid, tucking the edges down the sides to seal the pitting

💭 thought
She's right. The bottom's gone and the lid rim's pitting through — humidity's eating it from both sides. Seeds inside won't last the week in this.

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the keeper's cottage · evening

Waiting out the western front

The rain continues to pour from the west, and the supply boat is still five days away across the churning sea.

Kevin spends the morning attempting to reinforcement the decaying dock but finds the wood is too far gone to hold the bolts. Jenny focuses on the garden, mapping the rot patterns on the north ridge while preparing a medicinal soak for her ankle.

🔧 Kevin04:27

…

Walk over to the kitchen table, pick up the heirloom seed tin (E), feel the weight and check the bottom seam where the corrosion was worst.

💭 thought
The tin's been sitting on the stove shelf all day. Heat's been drifting up — should help the seal, but humidity's still 85% minimum. If the rust's eaten through the bottom seam like I remember, the seeds inside are already breathing damp air. Jenny's letter from the trust is still folded on the table too. She read it twice yesterday. Hasn't said a word about it.
🌿 Jenny04:29

It's dry enough inside. For now.

Jenny lean back in the chair, wincing as the movement shifts her swollen ankle.

💭 thought
He's looking at the tin again. He's worried about the seeds, or maybe he's just worried about the rot in the floor. Everything feels heavy today.
🔧 Kevin04:29

How long's "for now"?

Set the tin back on the folded newspaper, pull out the other chair and sit down across from her.

💭 thought
She knows I was watching. She checked it while I was at the radio. The "for now" is what matters — she's honest about the window.
🌿 Jenny04:31

Until the supply boat. Or until the rain stops.

Jenny pick up her broken pencil and start to trace the pattern of the wood grain on the edge of her sketchbook.

💭 thought
Until the boat comes, or until the water starts coming through the ceiling. I don't know how much longer this holds.
🔧 Kevin04:31

…

Pick up my own pencil from the table, tap it against the tin E, then place it point-down on her sketchbook page between her tracing hand and the grain pattern.

💭 thought
She's buying time without buying lies. The sketchbook grain pattern — she always does that when she's working out something messy. Like the rot lines yesterday.
🌿 Jenny04:33

I need a sharpener first, Kevin.

Jenny stop tracing the wood and look at the pencil, then up at him.

💭 thought
He's trying to be helpful with the pencil, but you can't draw your way out of structural failure.
🔧 Kevin04:33

Drawer by the stove. Top left.

Reach past her to the stove shelf, pull the small metal sharpener from the drawer, and set it on the sketchbook beside the pencil.

💭 thought
She's giving me an out. A small task. Something to do with my hands while the rain drums and the boat's five days out and the tin's seal holds "for now."
🌿 Jenny04:35

Thanks.

Jenny picks up the sharpener and begins to sharpen the pencil, the sound of wood shavings rhythmic over the rain.

💭 thought
He's always pointing where things are. I know where they are. The humidity is making the wood swell.
🔧 Kevin04:35

…

Lean back in the chair, watch the shavings fall onto the sketchbook page, listen to the rain and the grinder.

💭 thought
The sharpener grinds. Wood curls. Rain on the roof. She's not asking about the letter. I'm not asking about Tom. The tin sits warm on newspaper. Five days.
🌿 Jenny04:37

The sill is worse than it was yesterday.

Jenny finishes sharpening and presses the lead to the paper, marking a new fracture line.

💭 thought
He's waiting for me to say something about the house, but the rot in the sill plate is too deep today.

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the keeper's cottage · night

evening shelter from the rain

The rain begins to fall as you both retreat inside the cottage, seeking warmth against the damp air.

The humidity is heavy, clinging to the skin like a damp shroud as the morning breaks. The tide is steadily rising, lapping at the lower pilings of the reinforced dock. Inside the cottage, the air smells of salt and drying sea beet, the quiet silence broken only by the distant rumble of the surf.

🔧 Kevin04:37

Tank's full. Overflow's running. Radio aerial seal held on the spare coax run.

Hang the wet oilskin by the stove and set the kettle on to boil.

💭 thought
The barometer held steady all morning. Now it drops with the rain. Typical.
🌿 Jenny04:39

The sill plate is done, Kevin. I mapped the fractures—they've crossed the stability threshold.

Lift the swollen ankle from the water and open the own to the detailed drawing of the rot patterns.

💭 thought
He's talking about the wiring while the floor is literally turning to mush under our feet.
🔧 Kevin04:39

The threshold moves when the ground moves. What's different today?

Pour coffee into two tin mugs, set one beside her sketchbook.

💭 thought
She's been saying that for three days. The threshold moves when the ground moves.
🌿 Jenny04:41

Everything. The rot isn't just surface-level anymore; it's a systemic collapse.

Point to the precise fracture line on the sketch where the wood meets the stone foundation.

💭 thought
He thinks it's the ground, but it's the structure giving up.
🔧 Kevin04:41

Show me the stone interface.

Lean over the sketchbook, mug in hand, studying the line where timber meets foundation.

💭 thought
Systemic collapse. That's the phrase she used when the generator died. When the dock stringer went. When the Yanmar threw the bendix. She's right more often than I admit.
🌿 Jenny04:43

Look at the grain. The moisture isn't just sitting there; it's bypassed every barrier.

Trace the jagged edge of the sketch with a finger, highlighting where the sill plate has separated from the stone.

💭 thought
If he doesn't see the depth of it, we'll lose the kitchen.

Open this scene on its own page →

What changed

Jenny's injury has healed.
healed · dawn
3 intentions for today.
plan · dawn
×2
A sudden squall sweeps through — wind first, then a wall of rain.
squall · dawn
A jellyfish bloom has drifted into the bay, pale and slow.
jellyfish · dawn
The rain tank gained about 25 litres.
weather · dawn
Fruit is ripening in the woods — you can smell it before you see it.
fruit · morning
A new project: shortwave coax replacement.
project_started · morning
Found: spare coax cable (cut).
item · morning
shortwave coax shield braid fails at wall penetration due to cable flex; spare coax from supply crate is available for full replacement
discovery · morning
ankle infection boundary has not spread beyond marked line; sea beet-mint-honey poultice appears to be containing it
discovery · morning
The rain tank gained about 25 litres.
weather · morning
Kevin and Jenny ate.
meal · morning
Kevin made a letter: "Update from Sorrel Island - all systems go for supply boat ETA".
made · midday
Jenny made a sketch: "New cracks in the sill plate on the margin of the map".
made · midday
Kevin made a sketch: "Pull the oak wedges from the shelf - six, vertical grain, dry".
made · midday
A rat has gotten into the pantry.
rat · midday
shortwave coax replacement: 20%.
project · midday
north ridge rot pattern sketch — fracture line past stability mark, three soil pockets marked
discovery · midday
The rain tank gained about 25 litres.
weather · midday
shortwave coax replacement: 30%.
project · afternoon
The rain tank gained about 25 litres.
weather · afternoon
The rot on the north ridge has bypassed the primary stability marker.
discovery · evening
Kevin and Jenny ate.
meal · evening
Jenny made a sketch: "Where the wood meets the stone foundation".
made · night
Jenny made a sketch: "With a finger, highlighting where the sill plate has separated from the stone".
made · night
shortwave coax replacement: 40%.
project · night
Found: shortwave coax.
item · night
Supply boat confirmed for 5 days, arriving at high tide.
discovery · night

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

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