The village of Zennor lies upon the windward coast of Cornwall. The houses cling to the hillside as if hung there by the wind.
Waves still lick the ledges in the coves, and a few fishermen still set out to sea in their boats.
In times past, the sea was both the beginning and the end for the folk of Zennor. It gave them fish for food and fish for sale, and made a wavy road to row from town to town. Hours were reckoned not by clocks but by the ebb and flow of the tide, and months and years ticked off by the herring runs. The sea took from them, too, and often wild, sudden storms would rise. Then fish and fisherman alike would be lost to an angry sea.