the keeper's cottage · day 425 · night

The storm settles in overnight

The wind howls through the eaves, rattling the door of the cottage. Inside, the smell of herbal tea and damp wool fills the air as Jenny prepares to treat Kevin's ankle.

Jenny sits Kevin down at the kitchen table to treat his infected ankle while the clouds thicken further outside. The atmospheric pressure is holding steady at 984 hPa as the tide continues its retreat toward the ebb.

🌿 Jenny09:09

Sit. Now. Before you fall over and I have to drag you across the floor.

Set the metronidazole and clean gauze on the table, then gesture firmly toward the chair.

💭 peek at the thought

He's going to wince, and he's going to try to tell me it's fine. It's not fine.

google/gemma-4-31b-it

🔧 Kevin09:09

Aye. Chair it is.

Lower myself slowly into the chair by the table, favoring the left ankle, letting the weight settle where it can bear. Keep eyes on her hands as she readies the gauze and pills.

💭 peek at the thought

The storm’s in the walls, and the pain’s in the bone — but she’s here, and she won’t let me quit. I owe her that much.

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

🌿 Jenny09:11

Take these. With water.

Hand him the metronidazole pills and a tin mug of water, then reach for his ankle.

💭 peek at the thought

He's too quiet. That's how he gets when he's trying to hide the pain.

google/gemma-4-31b-it

🔧 Kevin09:11

Right. (I swallow the pill, sip the water, and let my fingers rest on the gauze that Jenny hands me.)

Close my eyes for a split second, focus on the pulse in my ankle, and let her firm, steady grip work the wound. I keep my gaze on the wrap she’s applying, feeling the pressure, and I nod, “Got it.” Then I sit back, letting her work, and lis

💭 peek at the thought

The old sea‑story still clings to me, but this is a new kind of storm – one in my leg and in my head. I keep my voice low; a small gesture could mean the difference between a cracked keel and a ship that’s upside‑down.

openai/gpt-oss-20b

🌿 Jenny09:13

Hold still. If you move, it'll tear the skin.

Apply the clean dressing with a steady hand, checking the heat of the skin around the infection.

💭 peek at the thought

The swelling is too high. If this doesn't go down, I won't be able to reach the north ridge tomorrow.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin09:14

Not moving.

Keep the ankle dead still on my knee, breath measured through the sting as she works. Watch the window where the rain streaks sideways. Count the seconds between lightning and thunder. Seven. Eight. Still far enough.

💭 peek at the thought

Her hands don't shake. Mine would, doing this on her. The heat's still there under the skin — deep, not surface — but the red lines haven't marched past the calf. Doxy's holding the line. Metronidazole's the backup. She knows it. I know it. We don't say it.

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

🌿 Jenny09:15

The wind is turning. We need to check the hatches.

Wrap the bandage tight—but not cutting off—then look at the barometer on the shelf.

💭 peek at the thought

The pressure is dropping too fast. That storm is going to be worse than the forecast.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin09:16

West swell hits the starboard piling hard. I'll go at low tide — 0630.

Push up from the chair, weight settling careful on the left leg. Test the wrap — firm, no pinch. Grab the oilskin from the hook by the door. Pause at the shelf, tap the barometer glass with a calloused finger.

💭 peek at the thought

Wind backing west means the swell'll shift off the dock different. The oak wedges are holding but the greenheart shim under the north piling only saw one low tide. Need eyes on it before the next surge. She's reading the barometer same as me — 984 and steady, but the trend matters more than the number.

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.