Two wrists held together, each with black script reading Always beside a Deathly Hallows symbol on the inner wrist.

Always script with Deathly Hallows symbol on wrists

Lettering · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

Two matching tattoos sit on the inner wrists of two people whose hands are clasped together. Each design is the word Always in a loose cursive script, with a Deathly Hallows symbol of a triangle, circle and vertical line placed at the start of the word. The linework is thin and dark, shown in black ink with no colour, against plain skin and a grey pavement background.

Lettering Fine line Forearm Always Deathly hallows Triangle Circle Script Matching

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The ewe had been straining since dusk, and Ruth had her arm in past the elbow when the lamp began to gutter. Bea held the torch in her teeth and swore around it. "Forelegs back, you said. Which ones are back?" "The ones not pointing at the roof." Snow ticked against the barn slates and the straw smelt of iron and wet wool.

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Their father had taught them the old rule about hands in the straw. You did not let go of the other person until the job was done, and you said the word for what you were doing out loud, so the animal knew somebody was still there. Always, he'd said, meaning the kind of promise you kept without being paid for it. When the lamb slid out grey and limp, Ruth cleared its nose with two fingers while Bea rubbed it with sacking, and they held each other's wrists across the bedding until it coughed.

Years later, after Ruth had gone to Leeds to train as a surveyor and Bea had stayed to run the flock, they had the same mark put on the insides of their wrists in a shop above a chip shop in Kendal. A triangle for the gate they used to climb, a circle for the lamp, a line for the fence post they leaned on while they argued. Ruth had sketched it on a beer mat. The artist asked what the word meant, and they both said it was obvious, then laughed because neither could explain why.

Each January Bea writes the lambing tally in the ledger, and under the last entry she draws a single line with the pen Ruth gave her. Last winter a ewe came in breech at three in the morning. Bea rang Leeds, and Ruth, still in her coat on the platform at Carlisle, said only, "Put your hand in and tell me what you feel." Bea did, and the lamb came out breathing.