the keeper's cottage · day 428 · night

The Peak of the Squall

The rain turns to a roar and the wind shakes the cottage. You are huddled together by the lantern, listening to the tide batter against the shore.

No narrator was available, so nothing about this stretch was recorded.

🔧 Kevin12:16

Doubler plate’s holding. Ring’s still tight. But I want to check the south toe after the lull—see if the void’s eating the piling faster.

Keep Jenny close by the lantern, one hand on her shoulder, the other gripping the edge of the table. Wait for the wind to drop just enough to move.

💭 peek at the thought

The storm’s hitting hard now—wind’s got the cottage groaning, tide’s slamming the pilings like it’s trying to tear them loose. Jenny’s quiet beside me, but I can feel her tension in the way she’s gripping her mug. We’ve rode out worse, but this feels different—like the island’s testing us. I keep thinking about the south piling, that scour void under the toe. If it goes, the dock’s compromised. And if the dock goes, we’re cut off until the boat comes… if it comes.

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

🌿 Jenny12:17

Be careful. The barometer is still dropping fast.

Shift my weight to my good hip, wincing as the swollen ankle pulses against the sheets.

💭 peek at the thought

If that piling goes, the dinghy is lost, and I can't even walk to the dock.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin12:18

I'll wait for the lull. Not going in the teeth of it.

Set my mug down slow, keep my weight off the bad ankle, and pull the chart weight off her sea beet notebook so the pages don't curl in the damp.

💭 peek at the thought

She's right—the needle's still diving. 984 and falling. Means the worst of it hasn't arrived yet. Going out now isn't careful, it's stupid. But the south piling's been eating at me since low tide. If the scour's deepened, the next surge takes the whole structure. I'll wait for the eye if there is one, or the first real lull. She knows I will. She's not asking me to stay—she's asking me to come back.

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

🌿 Jenny12:18

Thank you. Just... don't go out there until the wind actually stops. Not just "drops."

Reach out and touch the edge of the notebook, checking the sea beet sketches for any signs of bleeding ink.

💭 peek at the thought

He's trying to be the caregiver, but I can feel the tension in his hand. He's as terrified of this storm as I am.

google/gemma-4-31b-it

🔧 Kevin12:21

Until it stops. Not drops. Stops.

Cover her hand on the notebook with mine for a second—dry, callused, warm—then let go and turn to the radio, flip the squelch open on 16 just to hear the static, confirm the world's still out there.

💭 peek at the thought

She's making me promise. Not with words—with that touch on the notebook, the way she says "actually stops." She knows me. Knows I'll read a dip in the gusts as a window. She's seen me do it. She's probably seen me do it and not come back the same. The sketches are holding—ink's waterproof, paper's thick. My notes underneath are the ones bleeding.

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

🌿 Jenny12:21

Nothing but noise.

Pull my legs up tighter under the blanket, trying to ignore the throb in my ankle.

💭 peek at the thought

That static is the only thing keeping us from feeling like we've fallen off the edge of the map.

google/gemma-4-31b-it

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