It was just so vast and never ending. The way the setting sun shone against its rippled surface it looked as if the water was dancing. For years I would spend a better part of my evening sitting on the cliffs. My -eye colour- eyes scanning the watery abyss while my feet dangling over the side, the skirt of my day dress folded delicately under me. The sea had been calling my name since I was a lass, ever since Father first took me down to the beach. He was a sailor for the British Red Coats and was just as in love with the waters as I was.
Or at least the stories Mother would tell me each night before bed. At first, she would tell them as stories. About a young man working his way though the ranks of a red coat. Till the day he become a Komondor. Than as I got older she told me that the hero of her stories was my father, who had been lost at sea when I was only seven. She would say how father had only been a year younger than me when we lost him that his father first took him sailing. A