the keeper's cottage · day 978 · morning

Supply boat on the horizon

The supply boat appears off the north cliffs at high tide, two hours early. Kevin stands at the dock with the dinghy bow line in hand, Jenny beside him on the porch rail. The Yanmar coughs once, then catches. The radio crackles — Tom's voice, faint but clear: 'Sorrel Island, this is the Maru. We're in the window. How copy?'

Kevin cleared the fallen spruce from the garden path using the chainsaw, making the wheelbarrow route to the north ridge passable. Jenny cleaned and redressed her ankle wound with fresh sea beet poultice and sterile gauze, then inspected the Yanmar's raw water pump impeller seating and checked the diesel fuel line for leaks.

🔧 Kevin01:44

Maru, Sorrel Island. Copy you loud and clear. Kevin here.

Key the shortwave mic, hold it steady, eyes on the Maru's approach vector through the channel.

💭 peek at the thought

Two hours early. The barometer's fall wasn't lying. Tom's voice on the Maru — he's captaining the supply run himself. My hands know this line, this engine, this moment. But my chest remembers forty minutes in black water, and my brother's voice after two years of silence.

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🌿 Jenny01:45

"Maru, Kevin here. We're in the window. Yanmar's running, dock's secure. We need medical supplies and the replacement impeller for the raw water pump—my ankle's gone south." (I grip the porch rail, feeling the infection pulse under the poultice, watching Kevin's throat work as he waits for my next words.)

radio mic to my lips, key the squelch, watch the barometer needle dip another point as the Maru cuts through the rising tide toward our shadow on the dock.

💭 peek at the thought

The infection's spreading faster than I thought—red line's climbed past the pen mark, throbbing hot through the gauze. Tom's voice cutting through the static means the antibiotics are real, not hope. The Yanmar caught means I can get to the north ridge beds before the tide locks us in. Kevin's hands are steady on that bow line, but I see the way he's holding his breath.

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🔧 Kevin01:46

Maru, Sorrel Island. Medical priority one — deep infection, lower leg, spreading past marked boundary. Started trimethoprim, doxycycline, metronidazole from cache. Need full resupply and evac assessment. Impeller confirmed aboard?

Keep the mic keyed, one hand on the dinghy bow line, the other steady on the radio. Watch the Maru's bow cut the channel markers — she's riding high, light on cargo or heavy on fuel.

💭 peek at the thought

She said it straight. No softening. My ankle — her ankle — the words tangle. Tom's boat, Tom's voice, and Jenny's infection pulsing hot under the poultice while the barometer keeps falling. The Maru's early because the weather's turning faster than forecast.

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🌿 Jenny01:47

"Medical priority one confirmed, Maru. Deep infection, lower leg, spreading past boundary. Started trimethoprim, doxycycline, metronidazole from cache. Need full resupply and evac assessment. Impeller confirmed aboard?" (I release the mic, already moving toward the cottage where my medical kit waits, ankle throbbing with each step.)

radio mic down, grip the infection-wrapped calf, feel the fever heat rising, step toward the cottage door where fresh gauze and antibiotics await, the Maru's wake lapping against the dock pilings.

💭 peek at the thought

The poultice is failing—red's crept another inch up my calf, hot as live coal under the gauze. Trimethoprim started, but I can feel the infection's already systemic, chills building. Kevin's voice is steady but I hear the worry in his knuckles whitening on that bow line.

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🔧 Kevin01:48

Maru, Sorrel Island. Impeller confirmed. Medical supplies confirmed. Antibiotics full courses. We're ready alongside. Bring her in slow — north piling's sistered but the stringer's got rot at the mid-span.

Drop the mic in its cradle. Walk the dock to the starboard cleat, check the greenheart plank seating, the 150mm through-bolt torque. The Maru's wake slaps the pilings — she's a heavy hull, deep draft. Need fenders out, spring lines ready.

💭 peek at the thought

She's moving toward the cottage like she doesn't need help. Like she hasn't been fighting this alone for three days while I paced the porch with a radio. Tom's boat. Tom's voice. My brother standing on that bridge two hours early because the weather's turning and he knew — he knew — we'd be listening.

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🌿 Jenny01:49

"Maru, we're ready. Fenders out, spring lines ready. Medical kit's on the porch table - full antibiotic courses, fresh gauze, saline. My ankle's gone septic, need evac assessment when you're alongside." (I pull the medical kit from the shelf, hands unsteady despite the routine.)

set the kit on the porch table, check the antibiotic blister packs, apply a fresh strip of gauze to the hot, swollen ankle, watch Kevin secure the spring lines to the north piling, the Maru's shadow growing larger over our heads.

💭 peek at the thought

The infection's burning through the poultice, red creeping higher despite the antibiotics. I can feel the fever building, chills starting. Kevin's checking the dock mooring like it's the only thing holding us together.

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🔧 Kevin01:50

Maru, Sorrel Island. Come alongside starboard. We'll take your bow and stern. Medical team first — she's on the porch.

Heave the heavy fender over the gunwale, position it at the midships mark. Take the bow line as the Maru's deckhand throws it — good throw, weighted end — snub it on the cleat, take the strain.

💭 peek at the thought

Septic. She said it flat. The word hangs in the salt air between the Maru's approaching hull and the cottage porch. My hands know these lines — fender, spring, cleat, tension — but my brother's voice on the radio two hours early, the barometer falling, Jenny's ankle burning hot under gauze I should have checked yesterday. The north piling holds. I sistered it myself. But the mid-span stringer...

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🌿 Jenny01:51

"Maru, come alongside starboard. We'll take your bow and stern. Medical team first — she's on the porch." (I step back from the table where I've arranged the medical kit, watch Kevin heave the fender over the gunwale with that familiar grunt of effort.)

radio mic down, step aside as Kevin secures the bow line, watch the Maru's approach through the channel markers, feel the familiar flutter of infection under the gauze as the boat's wake laps against our pilings.

💭 peek at the thought

The infection's burning hotter, red creeping up toward my knee despite the poultice change. Kevin's hands are moving with practiced precision, but I can see the tension in his shoulders, the way he keeps glancing at my ankle wrapped in fresh gauze.

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