A tiny three-masted ship crosses a puddle on the fishing hut's flagstone floor. Its pale sails glow against the dark hull, their reflections stretching across the water beneath it. Fine rigging joins the masts and rails, while a narrow wake trails behind. A small puff of smoke at one side marks a miniature salute.

Behind an upturned wooden crate, a woman crouches with a net mallet hanging loosely from one hand. Her other hand steadies her against the wood as she watches the boat. A navy wool dress, dark boots and a grey knitted hat keep her warmly dressed for the storm outside. Her attention remains fixed on the impossible voyage at her feet.

Nets and glass fishing floats hang from the overhead beams. Firelight warms the rough stone and the edge of the puddle, where orange reflections meet the ship's cold blue light. Oilskins wait on wall pegs, and a carved pumpkin glows near the open shutters. Beyond them, waves and rain move through the night while a much smaller sea has formed indoors.