Ivor met Marta by the sea. Her hair was long, and copper, the colour of an autumn sunrise, the purple ribbon tied carefull, holding back the soft waves of her hair that rolled down over her shoulders the way the ocean rolls over rocks. Ivor was an awkward man, his posture stiff, his gait plodding, and his mouth turned down in some serious contemplation. His brow furrowed at a young age, and Ivor's gaze was far off but focussed.

Marta stripped off her dress. She ran into the sea and swam, her white undergarments billowing out around her. She watched Ivor in his boat, dropping his nets into the water, and she smiled at him. Ivor responded by tipping his flat, faded brown hat to her, and jerking his head forward and down in a receptive nod. She smiled at his abruptness.

For years Ivor thought the only lady who could understand him was the sea. Ivor was engaged once to a lovely woman chosen for him by his father. She was simple in her appearance, taste, and class, a pale blonde with startling sky blue eyes, but Ivor never liked her. Her manner was pleasing to everyone in town, and they praised her. Ivor was not interested in women. He was interested in taking his boat out onto the broad expanse of water, and fishing. He loved staring out into the unending distance, watching the curve of water as it bowed under the sky.