the keeper's cottage · day 410 · morning

The first drop of rain

Kevin and Jenny meet at the porch as the wind finally picks up and the first heavy drops hit the dust.

The air pressure continues to drop as the overcast sky heavyens, signaling the approaching storm. Kevin checks the bucket under the leaking cottage shutter while Jenny tends to the drying heirloom seeds and notebook on the kitchen table.

🔧 Kevin18:45

Rain's here. Bucket's catching the shutter leak. You want the porch chair or the kitchen?

Walk to the porch rail, lean forearms on the weathered wood, eyes tracking the swell lines stacking up past the dock.

💭 peek at the thought

She's moving better than yesterday. The splint's holding. Still don't like the heat I felt in her calf when I changed the dressing at oh-four-hundred, but the streaks haven't crossed the knee. Wind's backing southwest — means the front's pushing through faster than the barometer suggested. Four days to supply boat. Three if they run before it.

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

🌿 Jenny18:45

The chair. I want to see it soak in.

Limp slowly to the porch chair and sink into it, clutching my ankle.

💭 peek at the thought

I can't stand the thought of being tucked away in the kitchen like a sick child. I need to see the rain hit the dirt.

google/gemma-4-31b-it

🔧 Kevin18:47

Kettle's on the stove. Got limpets boiling if you can stomach broth.

Turn from the rail, palm flat on the doorframe, watching her settle into the chair before stepping inside to lift the skillet handle.

💭 peek at the thought

She's watching the water hit the dust, not me. Good. Means she's not scanning my face for the worry I can't keep out of my hands. The ankle's swollen over the splint edges — new since midnight. Heat radiating through the wool wrap. Two more doses of doxycycline before the blister pack's empty. Metronidazole after. If the streaks hit femoral by noon, I'm keying the medevac form whether she signs or not.

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

🌿 Jenny18:47

I can stomach it. Just... bring it out here.

Lean back and close my eyes for a second, listening to the rain intensify on the roof.

💭 peek at the thought

I'm starving, but the idea of the broth makes my stomach churn. I need the strength, though.

google/gemma-4-31b-it

🔧 Kevin18:49

Two bowls. Bread's stale but the corned beef fat'll soften it.

Ladle steaming broth and limpets into chipped enamel bowls, wipe spoon handles on my thigh, carry both out to the porch and set one on the arm of her chair, the other on the rail beside my hip.

💭 peek at the thought

She's tired. The kind that sits in the bones, not the muscles. She won't ask for help — never does — but the way she's favoring the left hip tells me the compensation gait's wearing new grooves. Rain's hammering the porch roof now, proper drumming. Good sound. Means the tank's filling. Means the garden's drinking. Means I don't have to run the generator for the pump.

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

🌿 Jenny18:49

Thank you.

Reach for the bowl with a shaking hand and take a small, tentative sip of the broth.

💭 peek at the thought

The smell is briny and heavy. I can feel my stomach cramping at the scent, but my head is spinning from the lack of fuel.

google/gemma-4-31b-it

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