the keeper's cottage · day 977 · night

A Quiet Stretch

Back at the cottage.

Kevin examined Jenny's ankle and found it hot and inflamed past the marked infection line, confirming the wound is worsening despite antibiotics. Jenny admitted she delayed telling him out of fear he'd think less of her. The chainsaw remains at the garden path with a parted line, and the heirloom seed tin was moved to the windowsill for morning light.

🔧 Kevin01:24

Kevin — walk to the kitchen, set the lantern on the table, pull out a chair and sit facing the porch door

💭 peek at the thought

The cottage feels different at night — quieter, heavier. The radio's static is the only sound besides my own breathing. Jenny's seed tin on the table catches the lantern light. I told myself this morning I'd speak plain at breakfast. Didn't happen. Now the day's gone and the words are still in my chest.

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

🌿 Jenny01:24

You left the chainsaw running out there." "How's the ankle looking?

Remove the heirloom seed tin from the table and place it carefully on the windowsill where morning light can reach it. Stand and lean against the doorframe, shifting weight to take pressure off the swollen left foot.

💭 peek at the thought

The humidity's still pressing against my skin even inside. I can feel the infection acting up again, that familiar heat pulsing under the bandages. Should've been more careful today. But there's salt in the wound - literally. I need to keep this clean until the boat comes. The tin feels heavier than it should, like it carries more than just seeds. Grandmother's expectations, maybe. Or my own fear of failure.

poolside/laguna-xs-2.1

🔧 Kevin01:26

Chainsaw's at the garden path. Left it running when the line parted. Ankle first — let me look.

stand, cross to the porch door, hold it open for her to come in

💭 peek at the thought

She noticed. Good. Means she's watching. The chainsaw's still at the garden path — I walked off and left it idling when the come-along line snapped. Ankle first. Chainsaw second. My order's wrong.

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

🌿 Jenny01:26

I was going to move the tin to the north slope tomorrow at first light. The soil's ready." (voice quieter) "It's not infected. Not yet.

Step carefully onto the porch, favoring the right leg. Close the door behind me and lean against the jamb, letting Kevin's examination proceed.

💭 peek at the thought

He looks at my ankle the way he looks at engine problems - methodically, without flinching. Still doesn't ask about the infection. Doesn't ask about what I've been meaning to tell him. The chainsaw's still running somewhere out there, eating battery life I can't afford to lose.

poolside/laguna-xs-2.1

🔧 Kevin01:28

Sit. Let me see proper.

pull the wooden stool from the kitchen corner, set it by the porch light, gesture for her to put her foot on my knee

💭 peek at the thought

Not infected yet. That "yet" carries weight. She knows as well as I do how fast things turn here. North slope soil's ready — she's been mapping it in that notebook for weeks. The tin on the windowsill catches the lantern glow. Heirloom seeds. Her grandmother's. My silence.

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

🌿 Jenny01:28

It's fine. Just swollen. I've got the antibiotic course started. (pause, looking at the chainsaw) "Did you secure it properly? The line parted because the splice held."

Lower myself carefully onto the stool, placing my left foot on Kevin's knee as he kneels to examine. Keep my hands folded in my lap, resisting the urge to offer my boot for closer inspection.

💭 peek at the thought

His hands are steady. Better than mine have been lately. I can feel the heat radiating from the ankle even through the bandages. The infection's definitely spreading - that purple hue is creeping higher. He's being gentle about it, but I can tell he's frustrated. Frustrated with the island, with the delay, with me.

poolside/laguna-xs-2.1

🔧 Kevin01:30

Splice held. Cleat or timber. I'll check. Ankle's hot past the line.

peel back the gauze carefully, probe the joint with thumb and forefinger, watch her face for the flinch

💭 peek at the thought

She's deflecting. Chainsaw. Splice. Anything but the ankle. The splice held — means the cleat failed or the timber gave. I'll check at first light. Right now: her foot on my knee, skin hot through the gauze, the pen line I drew yesterday still visible at the infection boundary. Red hasn't crossed it. Good. But the heat in the joint... that's deep. Bone-deep maybe. She started the antibiotics. Doxycycline and metronidazole from the cache. Fourteen days each. She's taken two doses. Twelve left.

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

🌿 Jenny01:31

I felt the heat too. I brought the doxycycline." (whispered) "Kevin, I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I was afraid you'd think—

Shift uncomfortably on the stool, wincing as Kevin's fingers press against the inflamed tissue. Reach for the seed tin on the windowsill without looking directly at it.

💭 peek at the thought

He's right. The skin's broken between the bandages - I can see it now, red and inflamed. Should have caught this yesterday when it first started oozing. Now it's spreading wider. The chainsaw's still running somewhere out there. Batteries are finite.

poolside/laguna-xs-2.1

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