the keeper's cottage · day 962 · afternoon

Post-treatment rest

The wind continues to howl as the sun begins its dip. Jenny rests her leg elevated while Kevin checks the inventory list for the boat's arrival.

Kevin confirmed fuel reserves are sufficient and administered antibiotics to Jenny for her worsening ankle infection, applying a fresh sea beet poultice. Jenny's fever reached 39.2°C with spreading redness past the previous pen mark, requiring aggressive antibiotic treatment.

🌿 Jenny00:03

Check the fuel levels again. We need to be sure about the Yanmar.

Reach for the own to sketch the pattern of the redness on my ankle.

💭 peek at the thought

If that boat doesn't come in two days, I'm going to run out of antibiotics before this infection is gone.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin00:05

Generator's at three-quarters. Yanmar's feed can is sound — epoxy held on the test pour. Spare drum's sealed. We're good for a month if the boat doesn't show.

Walk to the generator shed to visually confirm both diesel drum levels and the Yanmar feed can seal, then return to the cottage porch.

💭 peek at the thought

She's focused on the practical, as always. The boat's two days out and she's making sure I don't miss a thing. Smart. But I see her hand tremble slightly when she reaches for the notebook — the fever's still there, under the surface. I'll check the fuel, then I'll check her temperature again. The words I've been carrying since Biscay are still stuck behind my ribs, but maybe after the boat comes, when the immediate pressure lifts.

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

🌿 Jenny00:07

That's plenty of diesel. Now about my ankle—

Unwrap the gauze and examine the red streak creeping past the poultice margin.

💭 peek at the thought

A month of what? Of slowly choking on my own infection while he plays captain of a sinking ship.

poolside/laguna-xs-2.1

🔧 Kevin00:07

Let me see. Hold still.

Crouch beside her on the porch floor, tilt the LED lamp closer, and examine the red streak's progression against the pen mark from earlier, then reach for the medical kit to get the thermometer.

💭 peek at the thought

There it is. The streak's past the margin. She's calm, clinical — treating her own leg like she'd treat a soil sample. But the red line tracking upward means the antibiotics aren't holding the line fast enough. We've got fourteen doses of doxycycline left, thirteen metronidazole. The boat's two days out at high tide. If the streak reaches the femoral triangle before then, we're in medevac territory. I need to check her temperature, up the dose if she'll let me, and keep the poultice fresh. And I need to say the words before the boat arrives, in case she leaves on it.

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

🌿 Jenny00:08

It's moved. Maybe a centimeter.

Shiver slightly and lean back against the whitewashed stone wall, watching him reach for the thermometer.

💭 peek at the thought

He's too gentle. I don't need him to be gentle; I need him to tell me it's not going to take the whole leg.

google/gemma-4-31b-it

🔧 Kevin00:08

Open your mouth.

Slip the thermometer under her tongue, wait for the beep, then read it while pulling the doxycycline and trimethoprim blister packs from the medical kit.

💭 peek at the thought

A centimeter in a few hours. The doxycycline's not stopping it. She's shivering — fever spiking. I'll get a reading, then give her the next dose early. Trimethoprim too, hit it from another angle. The boat's two days. If this hits the lymph nodes in her groin, we're past what oral antibiotics can handle. I've seen sepsis take a man in twelve hours on a ship with a full infirmary. Here, we've got a cottage and a radio. The words in my throat taste like copper. I should have said them months ago. Should say them now, while she's still looking at me.

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

🌿 Jenny00:11

I feel hot, Kevin.

Close my eyes and try to stop the shivering despite the 32-degree heat.

💭 peek at the thought

38.5. The fever is starting to Climb. If this doesn't break, I'm in trouble.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin00:11

Thirty-nine point two. We're hitting it hard. Doxycycline now, trimethoprim in two hours, metronidazole with dinner. I'll refresh the poultice with fresh sea beet and honey. Drink this.

Hand her the doxycycline tablet with a tin mug of water, then mix a fresh poultice from the sea beet leaves and honey jar, apply it over the red streak, and rewrap with clean gauze.

💭 peek at the thought

Thermometer reads 39.2. That's up half a degree from this morning. The shivering's rigors — her body trying to burn out what the antibiotics aren't reaching. Two days to the boat. If the streak hits the femoral nodes by tomorrow night, I'm calling the Mayday. She's burning up beside me and I'm still sitting on the words. The Bay of Biscay, the water, the forty minutes — none of it matters if she dies on this island because I was too proud to speak. She thinks I stay because I'm afraid of the crossing. She doesn't know I stayed because the silence here is the only thing that ever made the screaming in my head stop.

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.