the keeper's cottage · day 543 · midday

Midday meal and storm watch

Rain hammers the cottage roof. Kevin and Jenny sit at the table with bowls of limpet broth and corned beef. The barometer hasn't moved. Through the window, the dinghy rises and falls hard against its lines. They talk in low voices about the dock planks, the supply boat's ETA, and the pressure holding steady at 977.

Kevin pressed Jenny to let him examine her infected ankle, but she refused and pulled away. He relented and checked the barometer instead, noting the pressure holding steady at 977 hPa. Jenny insisted she would tend the seed tin tomorrow if the supply boat arrives.

🔧 Kevin07:25

Those planks are taking more strain than they should. If the supply boat comes in with a load and the swell's up, that finger pier could go. We need to sister them before they crane anything heavy aboard.

sip broth, watch the dinghy pitch against its lines, then stand and walk to the window to check the dock's movement in the swell.

💭 peek at the thought

The rain's steady, the broth's warm, but the dock's groaning under the swell. Jenny's quiet, her ankle throbbing under the table. I can feel it—this waiting's wearing on us both. The supply boat's due tomorrow, but if those planks give way under the crane, we're stuck till the next blow. I should've checked them at low tide. Now it's just talk, and the rain keeps falling.

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

🌿 Jenny07:26

I'll get the saw and the screws once the rain lets up, but we need to check the bolts first.

wince as I shift my weight, rubbing the swollen skin above the bandage.

💭 peek at the thought

The dock is going to give, and I can't be the one's with this ankle acting like this.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin07:26

Rain's not letting up. Bolts first, then we'll see. Sit back down — let me look at that ankle properly before the swelling cuts circulation.

set mug down, pull a chair around to her side of the table, and reach for her leg to unwind the bandage.

💭 peek at the thought

She's pushing through it, same as always. The wince tells me more than words — that ankle's worse than she's letting on. I should've looked at it properly this morning before the tide turned. The bolts can wait an hour; her foot can't.

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

🌿 Jenny07:27

It's fine, Kevin. It's just the salt and the damp.

pull away slightly, my jaw tightening as the fabric brushes against the raw skin.

💭 peek at the thought

He always wants to fix one thing at a time while the rot is already under the surface.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin07:28

It's not fine. The red line's past your ankle bone. That's not salt.

hold her gaze, not reaching again, not pushing — just waiting, letting the silence do the work.

💭 peek at the thought

She's lying to both of us. The heat coming off that bandage, the way she pulled back — this isn't salt and damp. It's been four days on antibiotics and the red's still tracking. I need to see it, clean it, maybe lance it if there's an abscess forming. But she'll fight me on it, and fighting wastes time we don't have.

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

🌿 Jenny07:29

I have to check the fuel. The boat is coming tomorrow.

look down at the ankle, watching it throb in time with the rain on the roof.

💭 peek at the thought

If it's spreading, I won't be able to get to the north ridge. The seeds will rot in the tin.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin07:30

Fuel's done. Three-quarters, clean. I checked at dawn. You're not walking that dock tomorrow if this turns septic. Sit. Let me see it.

stay seated, mug forgotten, watching her face — not the ankle, her face — waiting for the crack in the armour.

💭 peek at the thought

She's deflecting. The fuel's checked — three-quarters full, no water, I did it myself this morning. She knows that. She's choosing the boat over the leg because the boat is something she can control. The leg isn't. I've seen this before: engineers ignoring the gauge until the engine seizes. She's doing it with her own body.

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

🌿 Jenny07:31

I'm fine. I'm just tired from the rain.

pull my leg back under the table, the heat radiating from the skin.

💭 peek at the thought

He looks at me like I'm a specimen that's already dying.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin07:32

You're not fine. But I'll drop it for now.

pick up the mug, drink the last of the broth, and set it down hard enough to make the point without words — then stand and walk to the radio shelf to check the barometer again, giving her space but not leaving the room.

💭 peek at the thought

She's shutting down. The leg pulled back, the jaw tight, the deflection to weather — she's decided the conversation's over. Pushing harder now just makes her dig in. But that heat radiates through denim. The red line's tracked past the ankle bone. Four days of doxycycline and metronidazole and it's not retreating. If an abscess forms overnight, she won't walk the dock tomorrow. She won't walk at all. I need to look at it while she's asleep. That's the only way.

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

🌿 Jenny07:33

I'll de-mold the tin tomorrow. If the boat comes.

rub my hand over the swollen skin, feeling the pulse in the heat of the infection.

💭 peek at the thought

He thinks he can see through the skin like he sees through the waymar casing.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

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