the keeper's cottage · day 405 · morning

A Quiet Stretch

Back at the cottage.

Kevin spent the morning checking the Yanmar's vibration under load while the heavy air remained still. Jenny sat at the kitchen table, sketching sea beet morphology in her notebook while managing her throbbing ankle.

🌿 Jenny14:14

I need to sit. way for a minute. I need to breathe.

sits on the edge of the kitchen chair, unwrapping the ankle bandage to inspect the angry red streaks moving up the calf.

💭 peek at the thought

The heat in my leg is pulsing in time with my heart. If I can't get this to recede, I won't be able to walk to the ridge, let alone plant.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin14:14

Let me see that. Hold still.

Gently take her leg, rinse the wound with clean water from the bucket, pat dry with a clean cloth, then reapply fresh antibiotic ointment and rewrap the ankle with a sterile gauze strip, keeping it snug but not tight.

💭 peek at the thought

The streaks are spreading — infection's climbing. I should have caught this sooner. No time for guilt. Need to act fast: clean, dress, and get antibiotics into her before it goes deeper.

nvidia/nemotron-3-super-120b-a12b

🌿 Jenny14:15

Thanks. It's hot. It feels like it's burning inside.

watches his hands as he works, her breathing shallow, tracking the movement of the throbbing through the new layers of gauze.

💭 peek at the thought

His hands are so steady compared to mine. I hate that I have to be the patient, the weakness in my own home.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin14:15

The antibiotics are working. Takes time to catch up. Keep your foot up on the stool. I'll get you water and something hot in you — broth, maybe.

Set a mug of hot limpet broth on the table beside her, pull the stool closer so her leg stays raised, and sit down opposite with the radio log notebook to monitor the frequency while she eats.

💭 peek at the thought

Burning means it's active. The doxycycline and metronidazole should be hitting it by now — first dose was hours ago — but the streaks say it's racing the drugs. Need to keep the leg elevated, keep her hydrated, and watch for fever. If the barometer holds and the supply boat comes tomorrow at 0600, we can get her to the mainland. If not, I'll need to radio for medevac. Either way, I'm not letting this take her.

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

🌿 Jenny14:16

The broth is good. I'm just... tired of the waiting.

takes a slow sip of the broth, the warmth hitting her face, and looks at the tin of seeds sitting on the counter.

💭 peek at the thought

If the boat doesn't come in nine days, I'll have to use the medevac forms. I'm too weak to even hold the pencil.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin14:17

The boat's due tomorrow at 0600. Barometer's rising. Window's holding.

Reach over and push the seed tin a few inches closer to her, silent, then turn back to the radio log and make a notation: 0600 supply boat ETA — confirmed. No traffic on Tom's freq since last check.

💭 peek at the thought

She's not talking about the broth. She's talking about the boat, the radio, the garden that never got built, the brother I haven't called in eleven months. The seeds on the counter — tomato, pepper, the poppy tin — they're the only things growing on schedule. Everything else is held together by wire and hope. I should say something. Anything. But the words that matter are the ones I wrote in that letter, sealed in the radio box, waiting for a boat that might not come.

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

🌿 Jenny14:18

I hope it does. I need to get back to the garden beds.

reaches out a shaky hand to touch the cold metal of the tin, feeling the weight of the unplanted life inside.

💭 peek at the thought

If the boat shows, I'll ask for more gauze. If it doesn't, I'm rotting in this chair.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin14:19

The beds aren't going anywhere. You are staying in that chair until the boat comes or I carry you to the dinghy myself.

Pick up the tin, unscrew the lid, and set it in her lap — close enough to touch, close enough to weigh something real — then go to the stove and top off her mug with the last of the broth.

💭 peek at the thought

She's burning through antibiotics and stubbornness both. The garden can wait — she can't. But she'll push anyway. That's who she is. The seed tin's dented, rusted at the rim, but the packets inside are viable. I know because I tested them. Just like I know the dock ring holds, the engine runs, the radio works. The things I can fix, I fix. The rest... tomorrow at 0600 tells us which world we're living in.

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

🌿 Jenny14:20

I know. way... let me finish this first.

rests her hand over the lid of the tin, feeling the ridges of the grandmother's seeds beneath the metal, watching the steam rise from the mug.

💭 peek at the thought

He's right. I can't even walk to the porch without the world tilting. I hate.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin14:20

Take your time.

Sit back in the chair opposite, keep the radio log open on my knee, and listen to the static on Tom's frequency — just in case — while the barometer climbs slow and steady on the shelf.

💭 peek at the thought

She's holding on to something — the seeds, the broth, the moment. The steam catches the grey light through the window. Eleven months on this rock and the only thing I've built that matters is the life sitting in this chair. The letter in the radio box says everything I couldn't. The boat comes tomorrow or it doesn't. Either way, I'm not letting go.

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.