Jowen held a piece of rope firmly, a rope with three knots he took with him on every voyage. Sometimes he would untie one knot and a gentle breeze blew through his dark hair, once he had untied the second knot and a fair wind jostled his boat, never had he untied the third knot as legend had it the witches of Boscastle would conjure a storm.

Gwen held the answer to the wind between her hands. The rope was knotted three times. The wind witch’s ropes they called them, all the sailors had one with them as they sailed from Boscastle off toward the horizon. Gwen watched Jowen and his boat leave the harbour. She untied the first knot and called a gentle breeze to blow him out to sea, she untied a second knot and called a fair wind to rock him back and forth between rising waves. She untied the third knot and a strange sound filled the harbour and raged out to sea. The sound of a storm gathering, the sound of a storm breaking.