the keeper's cottage · day 444 · evening

Evening meal and radio watch

Kevin and Jenny sit at the kitchen table eating limpet broth with corned beef fat. The kettle steams. The shortwave radio sits on the shelf, battery dead. Outside the window the tide is high and the grey light is fading. Kevin has the medevac forms in his pocket. Jenny's ankle is wrapped and propped. The barometer reads 981 hPa and rising.

Kevin and Jenny finished the limpet broth and Jenny took her 1800 dose of metronidazole with water. The rain hammered the cottage roof while the barometer held at 983 hPa and rising. Kevin logged the antibiotic timing in the damp notebook as the light failed.

🌿 Jenny04:04

The boat is ten days out, Kevin. I need to make sure I can walk by then.

sips the hot, salty broth, wincing as the movement hits the calf.

💭 peek at the thought

If that line moves another inch up tomorrow, I'm not going able to leave this table.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin04:04

You'll walk. Keep the foot up. Finish the broth — salt and fat, that's what the blood needs right now.

reach into my pocket, touch the folded medevac forms, then set the tin mug down and pull the notebook toward me to check the antibiotic timing I logged this morning

💭 peek at the thought

She's counting on the boat. I'm counting on the antibiotics. The gap between those two things is where she could lose the leg — or worse. Ten days. The red line was tracking past the knee this morning. Metronidazole's in her system now, doxycycline too. If the fever breaks by dawn, we hold. If it doesn't, I key the mic and call it in, boat or no boat.

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

🌿 Jenny04:05

It's just an infection, Kevin. Don't start the medevac talk yet.

pulls the notebook back slightly, my fingers tracing the sketch of the sea beet in the margin.

💭 peek at the thought

He's looking at the forms again like he's already planning the evacuation.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin04:06

Not starting anything. Just finishing the log. You took the first dose at 0600. Next at 1800. That's two hours.

tap the margin beside the sea beet sketch where I wrote the dosing times, then push the notebook back to her and pick up my mug

💭 peek at the thought

She's right. Not yet. But the forms are in my pocket for a reason — the line on her calf didn't care what we called it. I'll watch. I'll wait. Dawn tells the story.

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

🌿 Jenny04:08

I know the time. I'm tracking the line.

takes a slow sip of broth, watching the rain blur the window glass.

💭 peek at the thought

He's so meticulous with the numbers while my leg is literally burning up.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin04:08

Good. Then we both know where it stands.

drink the hot broth, set the mug down, and stand to check the barometer on the wall — 981, rising slow

💭 peek at the thought

She's tracking it. Good. That means she's not pretending it isn't there. The rain's steady, the barometer's rising, and she's watching her own leg like a gauge. That's the woman I married. Ten days to the boat. Two hours to the next dose. I'll check the line myself when she lets me.

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

🌿 Jenny04:09

It's moving. For now.

shifts my weight to off the ankle, wincing as the throb pulses against the gauze.

💭 peek at the thought

If the pressure keeps rising, the storm might hold long enough for the seeds to dry properly.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin04:09

Two hours. Next dose. Then we see.

go to the kitchen shelf, pull down the first aid kit, and set out the metronidazole blister pack and a clean tin mug with water ready

💭 peek at the thought

Moving. She says it like weather. Like the barometer. Like the tide. It's moving — means it's not stopped. Means we're still in the fight. Two hours to the next dose. If the fever doesn't break by 0400, I key the mic. No argument. She knows it too.

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

🌿 Jenny04:11

I'll take it when the clock hits.

reaches for the blister pack, my fingers trembling slightly as I touch the foil.

💭 peek at the thought

He's always preparing for the worst, even when the best is possible.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin04:11

Take it with the last of the broth. Coats the stomach.

sit back down at the table, push the mug toward her, and wait — watching the window go darker, the rain steady, the clock on the radio shelf ticking toward 1800

💭 peek at the thought

Trembling. She won't show fear but the body tells. The infection's fighting her hard. Metronidazole's bitter on an empty stomach — broth helps. I'll sit with her through it. 0400 comes either way.

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.