the old shrine · day 358 · evening

Evening Preparations

The rain has tapered to a drizzle as the heat of the day fades. Kevin and Jenny meet at the shrine to discuss the plan for the morning launch.

Kevin and Jenny assessed the spreading infection on her leg at the shrine. The red streaking has climbed past her calf toward the thigh despite salt water and alcohol treatment, indicating worsening cellulitis. They agreed to launch the dinghy at first light for the 30-40 hour crossing to St. Mary's regardless, with Jenny lashed to the bench and Kevin running the engine.

🔧 Kevin16:31

Engine's solid. Vibration's only above half throttle. We run at three-quarter, it'll hold. Thirty hours to St. Mary's in this chop. Forty if the wind backs southwest.

lean against the weathered stone, arms crossed, watching her face in the fading light

💭 peek at the thought

She's here. Standing among the stones like she belongs to them. The letter's in my pocket, dry and useless. Six days to the supply boat if it comes. Thirty hours to St. Mary's if we leave at first light. Her leg — the red line's past the knee. She won't let me call the chopper. I've already decided. Just need her to say the word, or not say it. Either way we go.

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

🌿 Jenny16:33

Thirty hours is pushing it. I need to check my ankle first - if the infection's spread, we need to reconsider the timing.

Examine ankle carefully, feeling for heat and checking the red streaking that hasn't gone away despite treatment.

💭 peek at the thought

The engine's vibration at three-quarter throttle means I'll have to push through the pain to keep this crossing viable. If I can't make it to St. Mary's with the infection worsening, I'll never get those seeds planted. The shrine stones are cold against my skin - maybe I should carve a marker there once this is over.

poolside/laguna-xs-2.1

🔧 Kevin16:33

Check it. But we're not staying six days. Supply boat's due in six. Might be twelve. Might not come. Your leg decides when we leave, not the boat.

uncross arms, step closer to see her ankle in the dim light

💭 peek at the thought

She's checking. Good. Means she knows. The red line past the knee — that's not waiting six days for a supply boat that might not come. Thirty hours in the dinghy's hard. Six days here is death. She's smart enough to know both.

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

🌿 Jenny16:34

I know. If I can't walk, I'm just a weight here. I need to see how far the red goes.

Peel back the bandage slowly, wincing as the air hits the swollen skin, and inspect the leg for new streaks.

💭 peek at the thought

He's right, the boat is a ghost I can't rely on. If this ankle turns to rot, the grandmother's seeds stay in that tin for good. I can't let the island take me before I even finish the survey.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin16:34

How far?

crouch down, one knee on the wet grass, close enough to see the angry red fingers climbing past her knee toward the thigh

💭 peek at the thought

She's not flinching much. That's worse — means the nerve endings are gone or she's used to it. The heat radiating off it I can feel from here. Past the knee. Into the thigh. Sepsis doesn't wait for tides. Thirty hours in a following sea, her lashed to the bench, unconscious or not. Or she dies here. Those are the two. No third.

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

🌿 Jenny16:39

It's... it's past the calf. There's a hot line running up toward the thigh. I thought the salt water and alcohol were helping but it's just spreading. It's... it's past the calf. There's a hot line running up toward the thigh. I thought the salt water and alcohol were helping but it's just spreading.

Pull my pants up slightly to expose the full extent of the red streaking, then quickly pull them back down, feeling the feverish heat and shaking slightly. </think>THOUGHT: The red line climbs higher than I admitted.

💭 peek at the thought

The red line climbs higher than I admitted. Clinical precision won't save me now - this is moving faster than the treatment I've been applying. I can feel the heat radiating even through my clothes.

poolside/laguna-xs-2.1

🔧 Kevin16:39

First light. We launch. Thirty hours at three-quarter throttle. You're lashed to the bench — conscious or not. I'll run the engine, you hold on. Coastguard meets us at St. Mary's. Tom's letter goes to them direct.

stand up slow, wipe my hand on my trousers where I touched her leg, jaw set

💭 peek at the thought

Past the knee. Into the thigh. Bloodstream next. Hours, not days. She knows it. I know it. The shaking isn't cold. We launch at first light. Thirty hours. Engine at three-quarter throttle. She goes lashed to the bench. I'll hand Tom's letter to the coastguard myself when we hit St. Mary's. No other way.

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

🌿 Jenny16:41

Hold on. If I'm going to make it, I need to know - when we're on the water, I can't... I can't just lie there. Hold on. If I'm going to make it, I need to know - when we're on the water, I can't... I can't just lie there.

Press my hand against his shoulder, feeling the pulse racing in my own wrist, then slowly stand and walk a few steps to prove I can still move. </think> Press my hand against his shoulder, feeling the pulse racing in my own wrist, then slow

💭 peek at the thought

He's making decisions for me again. The infection's spreading faster than I thought, and I'm already calculating how much fuel we'll need if I crash. Those seeds are going to be the last thing I make sure survive. He's making decisions for me again.

poolside/laguna-xs-2.1

🔧 Kevin16:41

You sit. You're lashed. That's not negotiation. Thirty hours — you watch the compass, you watch the radio, you tell me if the wind shifts. That's your job. My job's the engine and the course. We both do our jobs, we both walk off that dock at St. Mary's.

take her arm, steady her, guide her back toward the cottage — toward the dinghy, the ditch bag, the life waiting in the dark water

💭 peek at the thought

She's trying to prove she can walk. Proving she's not cargo. Stubborn as the engine's vibration — same bloodline. She'll sit the bench. She'll be lashed. She'll hate every second. But she'll be alive to hate it. That's the only math that matters.

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

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