the old shrine · day 500 · evening

Evening meal in the heat

The pair eats the meal as the sun begins to dip, the air remaining still and heavy.

Kevin and Jenny rest at the old shrine as the tide recedes, both feeling the weight of hunger. They monitor Jenny's ankle infection while waiting for the supply boat's arrival in four days.

🔧 Kevin11:41

Kevin — finish the last of the limpet broth, set the tin mug down, and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. Then I stand, take the empty skillet to the sink, and rinse it with seawater before hanging it to dry.

💭 peek at the thought

The silence between us is full of things we don’t say—her ankle, my hands, the letter to Tom still unmailed. I chew slowly, letting the salt and fat settle. The heat presses, but for now, the hunger is gone.

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

🌿 Jenny11:42

I'm going to check the poultice again before bed.

Walk to the cottage table, unwrap the bandage, and inspect the angry red heat on my skin.

💭 peek at the thought

My ankle is throbbing in time with the tide; if this fever doesn't break before the boat comes, I'm never going to see those seeds.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin11:43

Let me see.

I move to the table, not waiting for permission, and gently take her wrist to still her hand. I lift the cloth just enough to see the edge of the infection—angry, swollen, tracing up toward the calf. I don’t flinch. I meet her eyes.

💭 peek at the thought

She’s looking at it again—same as this morning, same as yesterday. The red’s spreading, the heat’s real. I know what that means. I’ve seen it before, on dockhands in Vigo, on a deckhand who didn’t make it to the clinic. I don’t say it. I can’t.

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

🌿 Jenny11:43

It's hot, Kevin. The poultice is barely holding. ownDO: Pull the bandage away slightly, wince as the air hits the skin, and stare at the red streaks.

💭 peek at the thought

He's looking at it like it's a puzzle, not a leg that's starting to rot.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin11:45

We need to start the antibiotics again. Full course. Now.

I rise, go to the shelf where the medical kit is kept, and pull out the blister packs. I tear open the next doxycycline and metronidazole, place two pills in my palm, and walk back to the table. I hold them out to her, waiting.

💭 peek at the thought

The streaks. I know what they mean. Lymphangitis. It’s moving. We’ve got five doses of doxycycline left, metronidazole too, but if it’s in the system now… I’ve seen this end in fever, in delirium, in a medevac that never comes. I won’t let it get there. Not if I can help it.

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

🌿 Jenny11:46

I'm too tired for a full course.

Take the pills from his hand, swallow them with a mouthful of lukewarm water, and lean back against the table.

💭 peek at the thought

If I don't survive this, my own's seeds will just rot in that tin.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin11:47

I’ll stay up with you. We’ll take them together, on time. I’ll set the alarm on the radio.

I pull the chair out and sit beside her, not too close, but close enough that our shoulders almost touch. I take out my own dose—doxycycline and metronidazole—and swallow them with water from the jug.

💭 peek at the thought

She’s exhausted. The infection’s draining her, and she’s trying to downplay it—again. But I can see it in the way her fingers tremble slightly on the table’s edge, how her breath catches just after swallowing. She’s not refusing; she’s surrendering to fatigue. I won’t let her face this alone.

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

🌿 Jenny11:48

Don't stay up all night. You'll be useless tomorrow.

Reach over and touch the back of his hand, then pull away to rub my temple.

💭 peek at the thought

He's actually staying awake. My leg is throbbing like a heart.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

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