the dock · day 977 · dawn

The Low Tide Window

Kevin and Jenny stand on the damp dock as the tide recedes to its lowest point. Jenny sits on a weathered crate, wrapping her ankle while Kevin checks the tensioned mooring lines. The air is heavy and still, smelling of salt and rotting wood.

Kevin heads to the dock to address the seized wheelbarrow, struggling against the salt-crusted metal joints. Jenny stays on the porch, clutching the heirloom seed trays while tending to the swollen, angry wound on her ankle. The humid air hangs heavy, threatening to rot the dry seeds if they aren't moved quickly.

🌿 Jenny00:07

The pH is too low near the water. I need more lime from the ruins.

Tightens the bandage on her ankle, wincing as the fabric catches the swollen skin.

💭 peek at the thought

If I don't get those seeds to the north slope soon, the humidity will rot them right out of the tin.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin00:08

I'll take the wheelbarrow at first light. Two sacks. Back before the tide turns.

check the mooring line tension on the north piling, then walk back toward the cottage with the come-along over my shoulder

💭 peek at the thought

She's still planning the garden while her ankle tracks hot toward her knee. The lime run means the lighthouse ruins — loose shale, tide-cut ledges, a fall she's already taken once. I'll go. She knows I will. She just needs to say it.

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

🌿 Jenny00:08

Make sure the wheelbarrow wheel is greased; the salt is seizing everything up.

Picks up the seed tin from the table, rubbing the cold metal with her thumb.

💭 peek at the thought

He thinks two sacks will fix the acidity, but the soil here is hungry for more than that.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin00:10

Wheel's been screaming for grease since March. I'll hit it with the graphite powder from the crate stores.

pause at the workshop door, pull the graphite tube from the shelf, and tuck it into my pocket

💭 peek at the thought

She's memorizing the weight of that tin. Every seed packet inside is a bet on next season. She'll still be here to plant them.

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

🌿 Jenny00:12

Don't forget to check the debridement on my ankle while you're out there.

Opens the seed tin, looking at the dried husks of grandmother's garden.

💭 peek at the thought

Graphite is better than oil here, but it won't stop the rot in the wood.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin00:13

I'll check it when I get back. You keep it elevated and dry.

set the graphite tube on the workbench, then turn and walk to the porch where she's sitting with the tin

💭 peek at the thought

She's asking me to look at something she can't bear to show me straight. The black line past her knee. The heat I felt through the gauze last night. She wants me to see it in daylight so she doesn't have to tell me it's worse.

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

🌿 Jenny00:14

The soil on the north slope is the only chance we have. I need to move them before the rain.

Traces the edge of the seed tin with a shaky finger, avoiding his eyes.

💭 peek at the thought

He thinks a bandage solves a deep problem, but the infection is moving up my leg.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin00:14

The north slope holds. I saw the trench draining. You move the trays when the fever breaks. Not before.

crouch beside her chair, reach for her ankle, and peel back the gauze edge with two fingers

💭 peek at the thought

Her finger trembles on the tin. Not from cold. The infection's riding her blood and she's talking soil pH. I've seen men work through sepsis on a rolling deck — they don't last long once the shakes start.

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

🌿 Jenny00:16

It's not the fever, it's the humidity. The seeds will rot if I wait.

Winces as the gauze sticks to the swollen skin, clutching the seed tin to her chest.

💭 peek at the thought

He's so certain of the soil while I can feel the heat radiating off my skin.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin00:16

Look at it. *Look.*

hold the gauze peeled back, not touching the wound, waiting for her to drop the tin and meet my eyes

💭 peek at the thought

Red-black streaks feathering up the calf past the knee joint. Hot as a manifold. The smell — sweet rot under honey and antiseptic. She's fighting the island for those seeds because she thinks the island won't keep her. I need her to see what I see.

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.