Day 896

Storm Settles In

Dawn broke under a drumming downpour from the west. The barometer read 977 hPa and falling. "It's not rising, Kevin. It's dropping," Jenny said. "977 and falling. You're right. My mistake," Kevin replied. Humidity kept the dinghy spar's epoxy tacky and made wound care difficult. Jenny wrapped her ankle in a fresh cloth. "It's the humidity. Makes everything sluggish," she said. "Makes the epoxy tacky too. Spar patch still hasn't cured," Kevin noted. "Spar patch on my list. But the south beach crates are still salt-crusted." "Crates can wait. Your ankle can't." "I've got it under control." "Two doses left. Then nothing." "Then we make the next two count." Kevin checked the diversion trench. "Diversion trench holding?" "It's holding. For now." "Good. Let it run." The rain tank gained roughly 25 litres by midday, then again by afternoon, and again by evening — spilling over the overflow lip onto the stone supports. The tide retreated, exposing slick dark rocks. Jenny's ankle throbbed; the damp heat prevented drying. "Sticky. The rain won't let it dry out," she said. "I'll freshen the poultice after you eat. Leave it unwrapped for an hour. Air helps." She managed broth with limpets. Kevin raked loose mortar from the shutter joints and applied the silicone tube and pointing trowel he'd found. A seabird chick lay shivering on the wet grass, swept from the cliff ledges. The supply boat remained eight days out.

Scenes

the keeper's cottage · dawn

Pre-Storm Prep

Kevin and Jenny sit on the porch as the heavy rain drums against the tin roof. Kevin checks the barometer reading the rising pressure, while Jenny wraps her ankle in a fresh clean cloth.

The rain has intensified into a heavy downpour from the west, drumming against the cottage roof. The humidity is thick enough to keep the epoxy on the dinghy spar tacky and makes wound care difficult to manage. The barometer continues its drop to 977 hPa, signaling that the storm is worsening, while the tide is rising, pushing against the dock pil.

🌿 Jenny12:39

It's not rising, Kevin. It's dropping.

Tighten the knot on the ankle wrap and lean back against the whitewashed stone.

💭 thought

977 and falling. He's looking at the barometer, but I can feel the air thickening. My ankle is pulsing in time with the rain.

🔧 Kevin12:39

977 and falling. You're right. My mistake.

Tap the barometer glass with a fingertip, confirming the needle position, then reach for the tin mug of coffee on the porch table.

💭 thought

She's right. I read it wrong — 977 and falling, not rising. My eyes aren't what they were, or the light's bad under the porch. Either way, she caught it. That's twice this week she's corrected me before I could correct myself.

🌿 Jenny12:41

It's the humidity. Makes everything sluggish.

Reach for my sketchbook and start drawing the way the rain streaks against the stone wall.

💭 thought

He's tired too. We both are. The pressure is a weight on my chest.

🔧 Kevin12:41

Makes the epoxy tacky too. Spar patch still hasn't cured.

Sip the coffee, lukewarm and gritty, and watch her sketch — the charcoal smudging under her thumb as she works the rain streaks.

💭 thought

She's making excuses for me. The humidity doesn't make the barometer lie. But I'll take the out — saves me admitting the tremor in my fingers when I held it up to the light. She's drawing instead of asking about Tom, or the boat, or her ankle. That's a choice.

🌿 Jenny12:43

Spar patch on my list. But the south beach crates are still salt-crusted.

Turn the sketchbook page and start sketching the crate's rust patterns instead.

💭 thought

The epoxy's still tacky because it's 22 degrees and raining sideways. Just like my patience.

🔧 Kevin12:45

Crates can wait. Your ankle can't.

Set the mug down hard enough to ring the tin. Reach across the table and touch two fingers to the edge of the gauze wrap — not pulling it back, just checking the heat radiating through.

💭 thought

She's cataloguing. Crates, rust patterns, rain streaks — anything but the things that need doing. The ankle. The call to Tom. The garden wall fracture she mapped in red wax. She draws what she can't fix.

🌿 Jenny12:45

I've got it under control.

Gently pull my leg away and shift my weight, leaning further into the wall.

💭 thought

He's hovering. I can feel the heat through the cloth, but his touch is too clinical.

🔧 Kevin12:46

Two doses left. Then nothing.

Let the silence stretch. Don't pull back. Watch the rain carve channels in the garden soil through the porch posts.

💭 thought

She pulled my leg away. My leg. The one that works. She's deflecting with touch and a lie — "under control" means the red line hasn't crossed the pencil mark on her skin yet. The antibiotics are down to two doses. Metronidazole's gone. She knows the math.

🌿 Jenny12:47

Then we make the next two count.

Close the sketchbook with a soft thud and look out at the eroding garden.

💭 thought

He loves a deadline. Everything is a countdown with him. I can feel the pulse in my joint; it's not gone, but it's not winning yet.

🔧 Kevin12:48

Weather holds, boat comes, we're fine. Weather breaks —

— stand up slow, the knee stiffening. Walk to the kitchen shelf and pull down the antibiotic blister pack. Pop the foil on the last doxycycline tablet. Set it on the table beside her mug.

💭 thought

"We." Not "I." She's still pulling me into it, even now. The garden's washing out below the wall — she sees it, I see it, the red wax marks on her map mean the fracture line's crossed the stability threshold. Two doses. Two days. The boat's three days out at high tide. The math doesn't work unless the weather holds.

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the keeper's cottage · morning

The Approaching Swell

The rain continues to pour as the tide rises higher against the dock, the air inside the cottage heavy.

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

🌿 Jenny12:49

The tank's filling too fast today.

walk out to the porch and check the water level on the tank.

💭 thought

If the rain doesn't stop, I won't even be able to get to the sea own, let alone sketch it.

🔧 Kevin12:50

Diversion trench holding?

walk to the porch and lean past her to check the tank gauge, then step out onto the wet boards to eye the northeast corner where the trench meets the foundation

💭 thought

She's right — the overflow's been running steady since midnight. At this rate we'll hit the foundation sill by noon. Need to check the diversion trench I dug at the northeast corner.

🌿 Jenny12:50

It's holding. For now.

lean against the doorframe and watch him, shifting my weight off the swollen ankle.

💭 thought

He only cares about the lines and the leaks. He doesn't see the way the soil is actually shifting.

🔧 Kevin12:52

Good. Let it run.

step back inside, pull the kettle off the stove and set a mug on the table, then reach for the doxycycline blister pack on the shelf above the radio

💭 thought

She's favouring the left leg hard. The doxycycline's had twelve hours — should be taking the edge off the cellulitis if it's the right bug. But the heat I felt last night when I changed the dressing says maybe it's not.

🌿 Jenny12:52

Thanks.

slide into the chair at the table and hold out my hand for the pill.

💭 thought

He's playing nurse again. I can handle my own medication, but I'm too tired to fight him for the blister pack.

🔧 Kevin12:54

Take it with the broth. Empty stomach'll turn on you.

push the mug across the table, drop one white tablet into her palm, then turn to the radio and flip the power switch — static hisses, weak in the rain

💭 thought

Two tablets left in this pack. Fourteen days prescribed, she's taken twelve. The metronidazole finished yesterday. If the swelling hasn't dropped by morning, we're into the buried cache — and that's the last of it.

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the keeper's cottage · midday

A Quiet Stretch

Back at the cottage.

The rain continues its steady, rhythmic drumming against the cottage roof, and the air remains heavy and thick with the scent of damp earth and decaying vegetation. The water tank has reached its absolute limit, with water beginning to spill over the overflow lip and trickle down the stone support walls. Outside, the tide is retreating steadily, exposing the slick dark rocks of the shore, while the humidity makes every movement feel de-energizing and sluggish.

🌿 Jenny12:56

Jenny — walk to the kitchen table and set out the sea beet leaves, honey, and clean gauze.

💭 thought

I can't ignore the ankle any longer; the throbbing is timing itself to my heartbeat. I need to get the poultice on before I lose the nerve.

🔧 Kevin12:56

Coffee's hot if you want a mug before we start.

Walk to the wood stove, lift the kettle, pour two tin mugs, set one on the table beside the gauze.

💭 thought

She's moving. That's good. The poultice routine means she's accepting the ankle needs tending, even if she won't say infected out loud. Barometer's still dropping. Boat's due in three days and the dock's mid-span joint weeps every swell. Got to check the through-bolts on the north piling sister before high tide loads it.

🌿 Jenny12:58

Thanks.

Take a sip of the coffee and begin crushing the sea beet leaves into a paste with a bit of honey.

💭 thought

He's trying. He always tries with the coffee and the bolts, but he doesn't see the way my skin is pulling tight around the inflammation.

🔧 Kevin12:58

Radio check at 0800. Tom's frequency first, then 2182 for the captain. You want me to key the mic or you doing it?

Sit at the table opposite her, blow across my mug, watch the paste thicken under her fingers.

💭 thought

Hands look steadier than yesterday. The doxycycline's holding the fever down. She's crushing leaf to paste slow, deliberate — knows the rhythm. Three days till the boat. Need the dock solid, the radio talking to the captain, and her ankle healed enough to move if the swell turns ugly.

🌿 Jenny13:00

I'll do it. I need the practice.

Set the paste aside and carefully peel back the old gauze from my ankle.

💭 thought

He's already thinking about the exit strategy. I'll do the radio; I need to hear the voice on the other end to remind myself there's a world outside this rain.

🔧 Kevin13:00

Good. Log the time, frequency, signal report. Captain's ETA, weather window, what he's carrying. If Tom answers — just "Good. Stay dry." Nothing else unless he asks.

Reach for the medical kit, pull the saline bottle and fresh gauze, set them beside her elbow without a word.

💭 thought

She's looking at it straight on. No flinch. The swelling's down from yesterday — doxycycline and the poultices doing their work. Red line hasn't pushed past the pen mark I made at 0600. She's right to want the mic. If I go over the side again, she's the one calling Mayday.

🌿 Jenny13:02

I know the protocol, Kevin.

Pour some saline onto a clean cloth and begin gently wiping the exudate from the wound.

💭 thought

He's treating this like a checklist. He doesn't understand that "stay dry" is a lie we tell people when we're drowning in it.

🔧 Kevin13:03

Didn't say you didn't. Just handing you the saline.

Lift my mug, drink, set it down quiet. Watch her work.

💭 thought

Sharp. She's sharp. Good. The edge in her voice means the fever's broken enough for pride to surface. Wound looks cleaner — granulation tissue pink, healthy. No foul smell. The sea beet and honey's pulling its weight. She'll have the radio voice steady by 0800. Three days. Dock, diesel, flour, pump seal. And Tom.

🌿 Jenny13:05

Jenny — pat the ankle dry and begin applying the fresh sea beet-mint-honey paste directly to the affected area.

💭 thought

The way he watches me now - like I'm some kind of exhibition he's politely enduring.

🔧 Kevin13:05

Wrap it snug. Not tight — let it breathe.

Reach for the gauze roll, tear a clean strip with my teeth, hold it out to her.

💭 thought

Paste goes on thick, green-gold. She's gentle but thorough — covers the whole margins, not just the center. Mint'll cool the heat, honey seals it, sea beet draws. Old knowledge, that mix. Grandmother's tin had the receipt scratched inside the lid. Three days of this and the boat. If the swell holds, we offload in the two-hour window. If it doesn't, we row out at slack. Either way, the dock holds or we lose the finger pier.

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the keeper's cottage · afternoon

The Receding Tide

The rain shows no sign of stopping as the tide pulls out, revealing more of the island's jagged shoreline. Inside the cottage, the atmosphere is damp and smells of wood smoke and medicinal herbs.

The steady rain keeps the humidity high, making outdoor work with the brush or the ankle impossible. Jenny remains inside as her ankle throbs, and the damp heat prevents any effective wound care. The water tank reaches its maximum capacity as the downpour continues through the afternoon.

🌿 Jenny13:06

I need to eat something.

limp toward the stove and pour the remaining limpet broth into a tin mug.

💭 thought

I'm starving, and this ankle is pulsing. I can't focus on the sea cave strata if I can't even stand up without seeing stars.

🔧 Kevin13:07

Mug on the shelf. Spoon in the drawer. Eat slow.

Check the barometer reading and note it in the radio log, then put another stick on the stove.

💭 thought

She's moving better than yesterday. The antibiotics are working. Still need to watch that ankle — swelling's down but the heat in it says the infection's not fully cleared. Broth's good. Salt, protein, easy on the gut.

🌿 Jenny13:08

Thanks.

take the mug and spoon, then sit heavily in the kitchen chair, sipping the broth.

💭 thought

He's in "fix-it" mode. Always managing the environment, never the silence.

🔧 Kevin13:08

How's the ankle?

Pour myself a mug of the broth and sit opposite her, watching her face while I drink.

💭 thought

Hands steadier today. Colour coming back. The doxycycline and metronidazole from the buried cache — fifteen days of them — are doing their work. Still got fourteen doses of each left. Need to keep her on schedule. Storm's holding the supply boat off another day at least. Barometer says 975 and rising slow. That's something.

🌿 Jenny13:11

Sticky. The rain won't let it dry out.

take a slow sip of broth, wincing as the movement pulls against the swollen skin.

💭 thought

It's throbbing in time with the rain. The humidity is making the infection angry.

🔧 Kevin13:11

I'll freshen the poultice after you eat. Leave it unwrapped for an hour. Air helps.

Finish my broth, set the mug down, and go to the medical kit for clean gauze and the sea beet leaves drying on the stove shelf.

💭 thought

Sticky means the wound's still weeping. Not closed. Humidity's killing the healing — can't get air to it, can't keep dressings dry. She's tough but this isn't something toughness fixes. Need to change the dressing again, let it breathe a bit before re-wrapping. Maybe try the sea beet poultice fresh tonight instead of the mint-honey mix. The salt glands on the beet leaves pull fluid. Worth a shot.

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the keeper's cottage · evening

Evening in Shelter

The rain continues to a slow drizzle as the tide begins to turn. You and Jenny gather in the kitchen for the evening meal, the supply boat is still eight days away.

The rain intensifies, a rhythmic drumming against the cottage roof that turns the world into a blur of grey. Inside, the air is heavy with the smell of damp wood and drying sea-beet. The lantern flickers, casting long, dancing shadows across the walls where the moisture has already begun to seep into the floorboards.

🌿 Jenny13:13

I'm not hungry. Just... pass me the water.

Lean back against the kitchen chair, gingerly propping the swollen ankle up on a spare crate.

💭 thought

I can't even put my foot on the floor without it screaming. Eight days is too long to feel this trapped in my own skin.

🔧 Kevin13:13

Broth's on the stove. Limpets in it. Salt'll help.

ladle hot limpet broth into a tin mug and set it on the table beside her, then pull out the antibiotic blister pack and set two doxycycline tablets next to the mug

💭 thought

She's not eating again. Ankle's still hot. She's burning through what little reserve she has.

🌿 Jenny13:14

Thanks.

Reach for the tablets first, swallowing them with a quick, sharp gulp of water before picking up the mug.

💭 thought

He thinks salt is the cure for everything. It's not the salt I'm worried about, it's the fact that I can't even stand up to reach the stove.

🔧 Kevin13:14

Eat what you can. Broth's got fat in it.

sit down at the table with my own mug, blow across the steam, and watch her hands on the tin

💭 thought

Good. She took them without argument. That's something.

🌿 Jenny13:16

I'll manage.

Sip the broth slowly, feeling the warmth hit my chest, then glance away toward the rain-streaked window.

💭 thought

He's watching me. He's always watching the "failure points," whether it's a dock piling or my grip on the mug.

🔧 Kevin13:16

Mm.

sip the broth, salty and rich with corned beef fat, and listen to the rain slacken against the roof

💭 thought

She says that like it's a promise. Or a warning.

🌿 Jenny13:19

Jenny — trace the rim of the mug with my thumb, watching the steam curl into the dim light of the kitchen.

💭 thought

The silence is heavy. Even with the rain slowing, the island feels like it's pressing in. I want to sketch something other than my own ruined skin.

🔧 Kevin13:19

Ankle still throbbing?

set my mug down, wipe my hands on my thighs, and wait

💭 thought

The silence stretches. She's holding something back. Always does until it breaks.

🌿 Jenny13:20

Yes.

Shift my weight slightly, a small wince crossing my face, and look back down at the broth.

💭 thought

He's asking the obvious. He knows it's throbbing; he can see the gauze is tight. Why does he need me to say it?

🔧 Kevin13:20

Red streaks?

reach for the lantern, lift it closer to her ankle, and peel back the gauze edge to look

💭 thought

Honest answer. Rare. Means it's bad.

🌿 Jenny13:22

Don't. I already checked.

Pull my leg back sharply, away from the lantern light, and tuck the ankle under the blanket.

💭 thought

I hate it when he does that—treating me like a piece of malfunctioning machinery he's trying to diagnose.

🔧 Kevin13:22

Alright.

set the lantern back down, pick up my mug, and drink without pressing

💭 thought

She pulled away fast. Protective. Means she saw something she doesn't want me to see. Or doesn't want to name.

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the keeper's cottage · night

The Storm Deepens

The wind picks up, lashing the shutters in their frames as the leak in the corner begins to drip steadily into a bucket.

The rain continues in a steady, warm drumming against the cottage roof. Kevin has successfully raked out the loose mortar from the shutter joints and applied the silicone seal, though the high humidity makes the process slow and tacky. Jenny rests at the kitchen table, her ankle throbbing in time as she watches the drip in the pot. Outside, a small seabird chick lies shivering on the wet grass, having been swept from the cliff ledges by a sudden gust of wind.

🌿 Jenny13:25

Dammit, not another.

Stand up with a wince, limp to the kitchen to place a pot under the new drip.

💭 thought

The roof is going to fail, and if that water hits the tin, the seeds are lost to rot.

🔧 Kevin13:25

Pass me the silicone, love.

Walk to the sink, grab the tube from under the counter, and head toward the leaking corner.

💭 thought

Of course it's the corner where the foundation shifts with the tide. Should've sealed it proper last week.

🌿 Jenny13:26

It's on the porch table, Kevin. I left it there so it wouldn't get buried.

Limp toward the porch door, leaning heavily on a piece of furniture.

💭 thought

He's just slapping a bandage on a fracture. Silicone won't stop a structural leak in this humidity.

🔧 Kevin13:26

Kevin — walk to the porch door, grab the silicone tube and caulk gun from the table, then move to the leaking corner.

💭 thought

Porch table. Right. Where I left the caulk gun too.

🌿 Jenny13:29

Don't just skim the surface, the water is coming through the mortar joints.

way at the kitchen table, watching the water ripple in the pot.

💭 thought

He's going to waste half the tube; the stone is too wet for it to bond.

🔧 Kevin13:30

Need to rake it out and pack it deep. Got the pointing trowel in the kit.

Set the silicone down, pull the pointing trowel from the tool roll, and start raking loose mortar from the leaking joints.

💭 thought

She's right. Mortar's shot. Surface bead won't hold against hydrostatic pressure.

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What changed

Jenny's injury has healed.

healed · dawn

3 intentions for today.

plan · dawn

×2

A pod of dolphins passes close off the point.

dolphins · dawn

Jenny made a sketch: "Crate's rust patterns instead".

made · dawn

The storm is building and the supply boat is eight days out.

discovery · dawn

The rain tank gained about 25 litres.

weather · dawn

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

quiet_transition · morning

The rain tank gained about 25 litres.

weather · morning

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · morning

A coconut crab has been at the garden overnight.

coconut_crab · midday

A coconut crab has been at the garden overnight, leaving tracks in the soft soil.

discovery · midday

The rain tank gained about 25 litres.

weather · midday

×3

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · evening

A seabird chick has fallen from the cliff ledges.

chick_fallen · night

Found: Silicone tube.

item · night

Found: Pointing trowel.

item · night

← Day 895 Day 897 →

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