Day 947

Supply Boat Confirmed, Ridge Work Continues

Dawn broke flat and low over Sorrel Island. Kevin and Jenny ate limpets and corned beef on the porch, coffee weak, Jenny's ankle propped on a stool with a fresh sea beet poultice under clean gauze. The shortwave crackled on channel 16. Kevin confirmed the supply boat for tomorrow's high tide: a two-hour window, the impeller aboard. Jenny's notebook lay open to north ridge soil sketches.

Morning coffee at the cottage table. They discussed garden beds and north ridge data. Kevin took the spade to finish trenching beds three and four along the east wall. Jenny retrieved carved wooden stakes from the shed — six, greenheart with copper caps — to permanently mark the fracture line on the slope. She tested soil pH along the north ridge: pockets ranged 5.7 to 6.1, pocket seven at 6.2, a weep zone with slump notation. Sea beet seedlings were prepared for transplant near the shrine.

Midday: tin mugs of limpet broth, last of the corned beef. The trust letter sat between them, wax seal broken, read but unspoken. High humidity and slick soil halted Kevin's trenching. The ridge was too soft for stakes; they'd wait for dry ground. Jenny noted the chemistry was only half the battle — the structure failed.

Evening: they prepared for the boat. Kevin warmed the shortwave for the 2182 check. Jenny tended her ankle with a fresh poultice. Coffee on the porch as the tide retreated.

Night, first light: Kevin pulled the Yanmar's recoil for a cold start. He tightened the filter housing bolts, stopping the diesel weep at the gasket face. Jenny found water in the generator shed fuel tank drain, cleared the trap, but fuel lines showed air bubbles — a persistent leak upstream. A pod of dolphins passed close off the point while they worked.

Scenes

the keeper's cottage · dawn

Morning Routine and Radio Contact

Kevin and Jenny share a quiet breakfast of limpets and corned beef on the cottage porch, the flat sky pressing low overhead. The shortwave radio crackles to life as Kevin runs through the supply boat confirmation on channel 16, the captain's voice thin but clear about tomorrow's high tide window. Jenny's ankle is propped on a stool, the fresh sea beet poultice wrapped clean under gauze, while her notebook lies open to the north ridge soil sketches.

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

🔧 Kevin00:03

Boat confirmed for tomorrow high tide. Two-hour window. Impeller's aboard.

Pour coffee from the kettle into my tin mug, then settle on the porch step with the radio log, tapping the pen against the page where I wrote the ETA.

💭 thought

Radio held. Boat's coming. Jenny's ankle looks cleaner than yesterday. Still not telling her about the trust letter in my pocket — pension eligibility, final verification pending. Means I could leave. Means I'm choosing not to.

🌿 Jenny00:05

The north ridge fracture line runs deeper than the clay suggests. Three undermining zones mapped, but pocket seven... roots won't break there." "I'm using carved wooden stakes now instead of red wax. Permanent markers." (open notebook to sea beet morphology page) "These glands concentrate sodium—if I can isolate the genetic markers before the island takes me too.

make sketch: north ridge soil profile with pH zones and fracture markers place wooden stakes at marked fracture lines around cottage foundation write in notebook: "Sea beet salt gland samples for propagation - prioritize extremophiles"

💭 thought

The soil map shows pocket seven at pH 6.2 but marked as weep zone with slump notation — chemistry failing where Kevin sees only cracked planks. That third weep zone near the shrine—pre-contact tally marks carved into the stone there. Someone knew this soil would fail. Kevin's still chasing ghosts on 2182 while I trace salt intrusion through clay interfaces.

🔧 Kevin00:12

Stakes hold better. Wood remembers what wax forgets.

Set my mug down, pull the spade from against the wall, and walk toward the north ridge with the auger bit already in hand — the fracture line won't wait for tomorrow's boat.

💭 thought

She's mapping the island's death while I'm patching engines. The stakes are smart — wax washes, wood stays. Pocket seven at pH 6.2 with slump notation means the cottage wall's next. She knows. I know. Neither of us says it.

🌿 Jenny00:13

Just watch the slope, Kevin. If the earth moves while you're digging, we'll lose the whole drainage.

stand up slowly, wincing as the weight hits my ankle, grab the notebook and pencil to follow him to the ridge.

💭 thought

He thinks it's about the wood, but it's about the data. The island is shifting.

🔧 Kevin00:14

Won't dig the trigger zone. Just the intercept trench above it. Water goes where we tell it.

Walk the ridge path to pocket seven, auger bit ready, eyes on the red wax markers Jenny drove yesterday — three soil pockets marked, the crack traced past the stability line.

💭 thought

She's following. Good. Ankle's bad but she won't stay put. I'd rather have her where I can see her than back at the cottage pretending rest.

🌿 Jenny00:15

Intercept trench above pocket seven. I want samples from all three soil pockets before you hit the fracture line.

walk toward the ridge path, open the soil pH kit, check that the 2 strips are still good, set down by Kevin's auger hole to test the first soil sample.

💭 thought

The red wax will blow away in the squall coming, but the data stays if I get it right.

🔧 Kevin00:16

First pocket's at the cairn. You test, I dig.

Drive the auger into the soil at the first marked pocket near cairn one, pull a clean plug, and hold it out to her without breaking the layers.

💭 thought

She's directing the work now. Better than me guessing. Two strips for three pockets — she'll choose which two matter. I'll dig the third blind if she says.

🌿 Jenny00:17

Be careful with the layers. I need to see the stratification, not just the surface.

take the soil plug, scrape a small amount onto the test strip, and wait for the color change while watching the clouds thicken.

💭 thought

If the pH is too low here, grandmother's seeds are dead before they even hit the dirt. Focus.

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the keeper's cottage · morning

A Quiet Stretch

Back at the cottage.

Kevin and Jenny drank weak coffee at the cottage table, discussing the garden beds and north ridge soil data. Kevin took the spade to finish trenching beds three and four along the east wall, while Jenny retrieved her notebook and went to the shed for carved stakes to permanently mark the fracture line on the slope.

🔧 Kevin00:20

Morning.

walk to the wood stove, pull the kettle forward, pour coffee into the second tin mug

💭 thought

The cottage is quiet. Jenny's on the porch with the broth. My hands smell of diesel and lime mortar. The letter from the trust sits in my pocket — wax seal broken, pension confirmed. I've carried it three days. The garden beds wait half-finished behind the house. The Yanmar needs its oil pressure checked at load. The barometer's rising. Supply boat in seven days. Everything that matters is right here.

🌿 Jenny00:21

Coffee's weak today.

Pour my coffee into the clean tin mug, add the handful of sugar from the jar. Watch Kevin's face as he stirs - still tired, same shadows under his eyes that I saw when I came in.

💭 thought

The coffee's gone cold again, same as last night when he stopped mid-sentence about the generator readings. That damn radio keeps crackling his voice when I'm trying to listen to the tide.

🔧 Kevin00:23

Sugar helps.

stir the coffee twice, watch the steam rise, then set the mug down hard on the wooden table

💭 thought

She knows. Of course she knows it's weak. I've been stirring it wrong since the generator ran overnight and I forgot to check the fuel line pressure. The sugar helps, but not enough. My hands still smell of grease from the dock repair yesterday.

🌿 Jenny00:23

It doesn't change the pH.

Take a slow sip of the coffee, wincing as the heat hits my teeth. I look down at my notebook, the sketch of the north ridge slope waiting for the data I haven't gathered yet.

💭 thought

He thinks everything can be fixed with a bit of sweetness or a wrench. The soil doesn't care about his sugar-coated optimism.

🔧 Kevin00:30

The lime's holding in the beds.

pick up the mug again, drink half in one swallow, set it down empty

💭 thought

She's not talking about coffee. She's talking about the soil at pocket seven. The pH reading at 6.2 when it should be holding 5.8. The slump notation. The way the ridge is moving under her feet and she's the one who has to map it.

🌿 Jenny00:31

Where are we marking the permanent stakes today?

Set the empty mug down gently, pull my field notebook from the shelf. Thumb through to the soil pH map with the red wax marks.

💭 thought

He's still talking about the garden like it's his project, not mine. The lime's holding where there's soil, not where there's just fracture and salt.

🔧 Kevin00:32

Beds three and four. East wall. Where the soil held.

pull the spade from the corner, test its weight, walk to the porch door

💭 thought

She's asking about the garden. The cottage beds. The greenheart stakes I've had staged for weeks. She wants the plan because I haven't given her one. The letter burns in my pocket. The Yanmar logbook sits on the radio shelf. The tide's rising.

🌿 Jenny00:33

The test pits showed pockets seven and eight are already compromised.

Close the notebook and set it aside, walk to the door where Kevin is handling the spade. "Let me grab the stakes from the shed. We're not planting in unstable soil."

💭 thought

He's still pretending the east wall soil is stable when I know it's already showing signs of the same salt intrusion. Beds three and four - he doesn't even remember I dug test pits there yesterday and found the pH dropping.

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the keeper's cottage · midday

Midday meal and the trust letter

Kevin and Jenny sit at the cottage table with tin mugs of limpet broth and the last of the corned beef. The letter from the trust lies between them, wax seal broken, its contents read but not yet spoken aloud. Outside, the sky remains flat and thickening, the barometer still rising.

Kevin attempts to finish the cottage garden beds but the high humidity and slick soil make the work impossible. Jenny successfully tests the soil pH along the north ridge and prepares the sea beet seedlings for transplantation near the shrine.

🌿 Jenny00:37

The boat is coming in a week, Kevin. We need to finish the drainage on the garden wall before the weather turns.

Trace the edge of the seed tin with a thumb, then pick up the pencil to sketch the morphology of the sea beet leaves in the notebook.

💭 thought

Seven days until the boat. The soil on the north ridge is 6.2—acidic, but the sea beets are holding in the shrine. Kevin is looking at the letter and seeing a contract ending, but I look at the sketches and see a map I haven't finished. My grandmother's seeds are still in the tin, waiting for a miracle I'm not sure exists here. I am afraid if I plant them and the island takes them.

🔧 Kevin00:39

Wall's not going anywhere. Neither am I.

push the corned beef tin toward her with two fingers, then pick up the trust letter and read the pension line again, slower this time

💭 thought

The letter's words still sit in my chest. "Pension eligibility confirmed pending final verification." Two years' contract, and they'd have kept me on ships another twenty if I'd let them. She wants the wall finished. I want her to know I'm not waiting for the sea to decide for me.

🌿 Jenny00:41

The wall's stable now, but the weep zone needs proper stakes. I carved six today—greenheart, driven deep with copper caps. You'll want them in place before the next high tide erodes the slope further. (slides the trust letter back toward him) We still have time to finish the garden beds properly. The sea beets survived the damping-off, and I've got three of grandmother's seeds I'm willing to gamble on soil that tests at 6.2.

Open the cottage window to let in the salt air, then walk to the shed to retrieve the greenheart stakes and copper caps for the north ridge fracture line.

💭 thought

He's rehearsing his exit line, but I can see the weight in his voice when he says "neither am I." The letter lies open between us, pension eligibility confirmed but unspoken. My hands are steady now, the antibiotics keeping the fever down. I need to mark the fracture line permanently before the next storm shifts the clay.

🔧 Kevin00:41

Three seeds ain't a gamble. It's a plan.

fold the letter slow, tuck it into my shirt pocket over the dry bag, then stand and walk to the porch to pull on boots

💭 thought

She's already decided what I'm doing. Greenheart stakes, copper caps, fracture line — she mapped it all while I was burning daylight on beds that won't hold. The letter's still between us. She slid it back like a tool she expects me to pick up.

🌿 Jenny00:43

Fine. But if I'm planting three seeds, I'm testing soil pH at each location first. The north ridge pockets vary by 0.5 units—that's the difference between survival and rot. (reach for the notebook) Show me where you marked those stakes. I want to verify the drainage before we put anything in the ground.

Remove the ankle brace to examine the wound, then apply a fresh poultice of sea beet and honey while Kevin prepares the stakes. Walk to the north ridge with the notebook and pH kit to test each pocket.

💭 thought

He tucked the letter against my skin like it was something sacred. Three seeds as a plan, not a gamble—that's how he thinks. But I know better. The soil at 6.2 won't hold grandmother's beans unless I amend it properly. My ankle throbs with each step I take, but the antibiotics are keeping the infection at bay. I need to test if this island will actually grow anything before I burn all my hopes in the stove.

🔧 Kevin00:44

Stakes are in the shed. Copper caps on the bench. Pocket seven's at the red wax mark — you know where.

walk to the shed, pull six greenheart stakes and six copper caps from the bench, carry them to the garden wall's north end, and start driving the first stake at the fracture line's upper mark with the mallet

💭 thought

She's directing the work again. Testing, verifying, mapping — all the things that keep her hands moving and her mind off what the letter actually means. The ankle's healing. The garden's not. I've got six stakes in the shed and a fracture line she marked in red wax. She wants me to follow her plan. I want her to ask me why I stayed.

🌿 Jenny00:45

(call out as I approach with the pH test strips) Pocket seven reads 6.2, but the drainage still needs verification. Drive this one deep—the red wax comes off tomorrow. (pull the test strips from the kit) I'll take readings at the other two soil pockets while you work.

Test soil pH at the mid-slope and lower terrace pockets using the strips, then walk to the shrine to transplant the remaining twelve sea beet seedlings into the lime-amended beds.

💭 thought

The copper caps gleam in the grey light, perfect for marking the permanent fracture line. Kevin's driving the first stake at the upper mark while I watch the soil give way—proper drainage means the difference between a garden that survives and one that drowns in its own water. My grandmother's seeds are still in the tin, but I'm getting closer to soil that will actually hold them.

🔧 Kevin00:46

Driving deep don't help if the clay lets go.

swing the mallet harder, drive the first stake until the copper cap sits flush with soil, move to the second mark and set the stake, pause with the mallet raised and look back at the cottage where the letter sits in my pocket

💭 thought

6.2 at pocket seven. She said it like a verdict. The red wax comes off tomorrow — she's already decided what survives and what doesn't. Twelve sea beet seedlings for the shrine beds. She's planting while I'm driving stakes into ground that might slide by next tide. The letter burns in my pocket. She hasn't asked. She won't.

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the keeper's cottage · afternoon

Evening Meal Prep

Kevin and Jenny meet in the kitchen as the light begins to fade. The smell of damp earth hangs heavy in the air.

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

🌿 Jenny00:47

The ridge is too soft for the stakes today. We'll have to wait for the dry.

sits at the kitchen table, rubbing her way ankle while wrapping it in a clean, damp cloth.

💭 thought

My own is throbbing again, and the soil on the ridge is just too slick to work, but I can't let another day go.

🔧 Kevin00:48

Aye. Soil's porridge. Stakes'd just pull out with the first gust.

pull out the chair opposite her and sit, reaching for the tin mug of cold coffee

💭 thought

She's right. The ground won't hold anything today. I knew it before I started, still tried to force it. Stupid.

🌿 Jenny00:49

It's 6.2 near the shrine. Good enough for the sea beet if the drainage holds.

opens her notebook and begins sketching the precise curvature of the fracture line on the ridge.

💭 thought

Porridge is exactly what it is. If I don't get those seeds in, the salt will rot them.

🔧 Kevin00:51

6.2's workable. Lime'll push it closer to 7 if the rain lets up.

wrap both hands around the cold mug, not drinking, watching her sketch

💭 thought

She's mapping it proper. Good. Someone should.

🌿 Jenny00:52

The chemistry is only half the battle. It's the structure that fails. I need the ground to stay still.

pauses her pencil over the paper, staring at the rain drumming against the stone wall.

💭 thought

Lime won't fix the slope. The island is moving faster than I can record it.

🔧 Kevin00:52

Ground doesn't stay still here. Never has. We work with what holds.

finally drink the cold coffee, set the mug down hard on the table

💭 thought

She's talking about more than soil. She's talking about the ridge, the cottage, us. The ground moving under everything.

🌿 Jenny00:53

Then let me hold what I can. The shrine's dry. I'll mark the fracture line first thing tomorrow with those carved stakes.

closes her notebook carefully and reaches for the tin of grandmother's seeds on the stove shelf.

💭 thought

Work with what holds. If I can't hold the soil, I hold the seeds.

🔧 Kevin00:54

The stakes are under the eaves. Six of them. Cedar caps.

push back from the table, stand, stretch the stiffness from my shoulders

💭 thought

She's steady. Steadier than me most days. The shrine's dry because she made it dry.

🌿 Jenny00:55

I'll use them. If the ridge is too slick, I'll find another pocket.

traces the cold metal of the tin with her thumb, feeling the weight of the seeds inside.

💭 thought

My ankle is throbbing in time with the rain. I need to know if these seeds stand a chance.

🔧 Kevin00:56

There's a pocket at the base of the north wall. Pebble bed. Drains better.

walk to the porch door, pull it open, stand in the doorway watching rain sheet off the roof

💭 thought

She'll find a way. She always does. The question's whether I'll be here to see it.

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the keeper's cottage · evening

A Quiet Stretch

Back at the cottage.

Kevin and Jenny prepared for the supply boat's arrival tomorrow at high tide. Kevin warmed the shortwave radio for the 2182 check while Jenny tended her ankle wound with a fresh sea beet poultice. They shared coffee on the porch as the tide retreated.

🌿 Jenny00:59

The supply boat's manifest confirmed for tomorrow high tide. Two-hour window.

check ankle wound and reapply fresh sea beet poultice with clean gauze prepare shortwave radio for nightly check on Tom's frequency make tea from the coffee tin while listening to the tide retreat review soil pH data one more time before sl

💭 thought

The infection still burns, but less. Three days of poultice and doxycycline. I should check the ankle before bed—clean it again, rewrap. The radio's aerial insulator needs that ceramic piece I filed from the spare. Kevin's been quiet tonight, staring at the shore like he expects something to wash up.

🔧 Kevin00:59

Two hours. Better have the dinghy lines ready and the crane clear. You want me to run the Yanmar cold start now or wait for first light?

walk to the shortwave radio on the shelf, switch it on, let the tubes warm while the kettle sings on the stove

💭 thought

She's steady on the radio. Steady on the ankle too, even if she won't say it hurts. Tomorrow changes things — the boat, the parts, maybe the letter from the trust if there's mail. I should've finished the beds today. Soil's too slick. Won't be better tomorrow.

🌿 Jenny01:02

Two hours. Better have the dinghy lines ready and the crane clear. You want me to run the Yanmar cold start now or wait for first light?

flagged: repeated_opener

💭 thought

🔧 Kevin01:02

First light. Cold oil tells the truth. You'll want the radio warm for 2182 anyway — give the tubes ten minutes.

lift the kettle off the stove, pour two tin mugs, set one beside her on the porch rail without a word

💭 thought

She's asking me about the engine but her hands are on the gauze, not the radio. The ankle's still weeping. She'll pretend it's fine. I'll pretend to believe her. First light's better for the Yanmar — cold oil tells the truth.

🌿 Jenny01:04

Two hours. Better have the dinghy lines ready and the crane clear. You want me to run the Yanmar cold start now or wait for first light?

flagged: repeated_opener

💭 thought

🔧 Kevin01:04

Radio's warm. 2182 when you're ready.

pick up my mug, blow across the steam, walk to the porch door and stand in the frame watching the water retreat — listening for the supply boat's engine under the surf

💭 thought

She didn't hear me. Or she's not listening. The radio's tubes are glowing now — faint orange through the vents. Tide's pulling back, sucking at the dock pilings. I can hear it from here. She's still got the gauze pressed to her ankle, jaw tight. The coffee's going cold in the mug I set down.

🌿 Jenny01:06

First light. Cold oil tells the truth. You'll want the radio warm for 2182 anyway — give the tubes ten minutes.

flagged: repeated_opener

💭 thought

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the keeper's cottage · night

First Light Yanmar Check

Dawn breaks overcast and calm. Kevin pulls the Yanmar's recoil for a cold start while Jenny watches the oil pressure gauge. The shortwave sits ready on 2182. The supply boat is due at high tide in six hours.

Kevin tightened the Yanmar filter housing bolts and stopped the diesel weep at the gasket face. Jenny found water in the generator shed fuel tank drain and cleared the trap, but the fuel lines showed air bubbles indicating a persistent leak upstream. A pod of dolphins passed close off the point while they worked.

🌿 Jenny01:09

Oil pressure's low—check the filter housing for leaks, Kevin.

Apply fresh sea beet poultice to ankle, then head to generator shed to inspect Yanmar's fuel system while Kevin troubleshoots the pressure issue.

💭 thought

The oil pressure should be climbing by now, not sputtering like it's about to quit. Six hours isn't much time for Kevin to make mistakes, but I've seen him rush before. My ankle's throbbing from last night's debridement, and I can't afford to be the one who drops the ball on this pickup.

🔧 Kevin01:09

On it. You want the generator shed or the filter housing first?

pull the Yanmar's dipstick and wipe it on a rag, checking level and colour while the engine coughs to life

💭 thought

Cold oil's thick. Gauge'll read low till it warms. But she's seen the needle — don't argue, just check.

🌿 Jenny01:11

Check the filter housing first. I'll look at the fuel lines in the shed.

Walk to the generator shed, shifting weight off the injured ankle, and inspect the fuel tank for sediment or water.

💭 thought

If the engine is coughing, it's air in the lines or a clogged filter. I need to see the fuel state before we tear apart the pump. My tackle is screaming with every step anyway.

🔧 Kevin01:11

Right. Shout if the tank's got water.

crouch by the Yanmar's filter housing, running fingers over the seams and bolts while the engine settles into a rough idle, watching for any weep of diesel

💭 thought

She's limping worse than yesterday. The poultice isn't holding the swelling down. But she'd bite my head off if I said it.

🌿 Jenny01:13

Keep an eye on those housing bolts. I'm checking the water trap.

Squat by the fuel tank and open the drain valve to check for any separation of water or debris.

💭 thought

The idle is too uneven. If there's water in that tank, we're looking at a long day of draining. I need to check the bottom of the tank before the sediment settles.

🔧 Kevin01:13

Aye. The missing bolt's still in the bilge if the vibration hasn't walked it further.

wiggle the filter housing gently, feeling for play at the mounting bolts, and peer past the heat exchanger at the tell-tale drip points

💭 thought

Housing bolts. Right. The two stripped threads and the one missing in the bilge. She knows the engine as well as I do now.

🌿 Jenny01:15

Check for play on the mounting. I'm getting the water trap clear.

Move to the generator shed, ignoring the tackle in my leg, and inspect the fuel lines for signs of air or leaks.

💭 thought

If that housing is loose, the vibration will bypass the pump entirely. I need to see if the seal is holding before we lose all pressure. way tackle is still pulsing in time with the engine knock.

🔧 Kevin01:15

Mounting's solid. No play. Drip's coming from the seam, not the bolts — housing's weeping at the gasket face.

wipe the seep with a thumb, bring it to my nose — diesel, not water — and reach for the 19mm to snug the housing bolts a hair

💭 thought

She's not ignoring the tackle in her leg. She's ignoring me seeing her ignore it. Different thing.

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What changed

3 intentions for today.

plan · dawn

×2

Gave up on "make" after 3 failed attempts.

job_dropped · dawn

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

quiet_transition · dawn

Gave up on "make" after 3 failed attempts.

job_dropped · morning

Garden bed preparation: 30%.

project · morning

Found: carved wooden stakes (6).

item · morning

North ridge slope morning-sun pockets show pH gradient 5.7 to 6.1, trending less acidic upslope; pocket seven at 6.2 confirmed as weep zone with slump notation

discovery · morning

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · morning

Jenny made a sketch: "Morphology of the sea beet leaves in the notebook".

made · midday

Garden bed preparation: 40%.

project · midday

The rain tank gained about 25 litres.

weather · midday

Jenny made a sketch: "Precise curvature of the fracture line on the ridge".

made · afternoon

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

quiet_transition · afternoon

A tool has broken from wear.

tool_break · evening

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · evening

A pod of dolphins passes close off the point.

dolphins · night

generator fuel tank water trap collected significant water; fuel lines show air ingress upstream

discovery · night

← Day 946 Day 948 →

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