the keeper's cottage · day 363 · afternoon

Afternoon Huddle

The rain has turned into a steady roar as the light begins to fail. Kevin and Jenny meet in the kitchen, the smell of damp wood and salt filling the small space.

The warm rain continues to tap rhythmically against the cottage roof, the air heavy with the scent of damp earth and salt. The work on sealing the leak-gap in the shutter is nearly complete, though the porch door remains a stubborn challenge. The tide is rising, the water lapping higher against the lower steps of the dock.

🔧 Kevin22:28

Kettle's hot. Coffee if you want it.

Pour two mugs from the stove-top kettle, set one on the table in front of her chair, take the other for myself.

💭 peek at the thought

The rain's hammering the roof like it means to break through. Kitchen's tight with the two of us, damp wool and salt and something else — her ankle, maybe, the smell of infection that won't wash off. She's favouring the left leg. Has been for days. I should've made her sit sooner.

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

🌿 Jenny22:28

Thanks.

Limp to the chair and sink into it, leaning the swollen ankle carefully away from the table.

💭 peek at the thought

God, I'm shaking. I can't even hold a pencil properly, let alone a mug.

google/gemma-4-31b-it

🔧 Kevin22:31

Ankle bad today.

Sit opposite her, wrap hands around the mug, steam rising. Watch her face, not the leg.

💭 peek at the thought

She's not putting weight on it at all now. The limp's gone to a dead drag. Mid-calf at least, maybe higher. Doxycycline's twelve doses left — six days if we stretch. She knows the count same as me.

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

🌿 Jenny22:31

It's just... the damp. Makes everything feel tighter.

Reach for the mug with trembling fingers and take a small, cautious sip.

💭 peek at the thought

He's avoiding looking at it. He knows it's worse than I'm admitting.

google/gemma-4-31b-it

🔧 Kevin22:32

We'll change the dressing after. Hot compress first.

Reach across the table, two fingers under her wrist — pulse check, quiet, no fanfare. Hold three seconds. Release. Drink my coffee black.

💭 peek at the thought

Trembling fingers. Not the cold. She's burning through reserves just staying upright. The honey's gone. Saline's gone. Twelve pills and a prayer. She'll not ask. Never asks.

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

🌿 Jenny22:32

I'm fine, Kev. Really.

Pull my wrist back slowly and set the mug down with a clink, avoiding his eyes.

💭 peek at the thought

My heart is hammering. He can feel it. He knows I'm running a fever.

google/gemma-4-31b-it

🔧 Kevin22:34

You're not fine. But you're here. That's what matters.

Stand, collect both mugs, rinse in the sink. Pull the first aid kit from the shelf — last of the gauze, the tape, the single tube of antibiotic ointment. Set it on the table between us.

💭 peek at the thought

"Fine." The word she uses when the wall's cracking. She pulled away slow — deliberate. Doesn't want me feeling the heat in her skin, the race in her pulse. Doesn't want the tally. I've got the medevac forms in the dry bag. The coordinates on the trust letter. Seventy-two hours they said. Maybe forty now. She'd refuse the helicopter same as she refused the boat. Same as she refuses the truth.

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

🌿 Jenny22:34

We're almost out of the ointment.

Look down at the ankle, shifting the fabric of my trousers just enough to see the angry red skin.

💭 peek at the thought

The kit looks so empty. We're out of the strong stuff.

google/gemma-4-31b-it

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