Black script lettering reading Be still on the inner forearm of a woman with long blonde hair, with her hand resting against her cheek.

Be still script on a forearm

Lettering · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A close crop shows a woman's lower face, long blonde hair and a gold necklace, with her hand resting on her cheek. The words Be still are written in black cursive script along the inner forearm, with smooth, thin strokes and no shading. The image is a warm, casually lit selfie with a blue and pink patterned top in the frame.

Lettering Forearm Script Word Necklace Blonde hair

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The wind had got into the great hall again, and Maud Ferrier was sweeping the same flagstones for the third time when her brother came running up from the water meadows shouting that the flood was over the causeway. She dropped the broom. Her mother was already at the postern gate with the lantern, reaching up to the old lintel where the words were cut, letters so worn that only a child who had traced them every day could read them. Be still.

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Everyone in Harrowgate knew the story. Sir Edmund's grandfather had built the keep on a rock above the marsh, and when the water rose, the castle did not drown because the people inside did what the stone told them. They stopped. They stopped their running, their shouting and their bargaining with God. Maud had never quite believed it. She had run down the stairs three times that winter, hauling buckets and sacks, and each time her mother caught her wrist and pointed at the carving until she stood still and breathed.

That night the water came up the steps of the undercroft and lapped at the third stair. Maud sat on the top step with her brother's head in her lap, holding her breath while the cattle bellowed in the dark. Nothing happened. Then the water stopped climbing. A heron came down onto the wall above them and folded its wings, and the whole night seemed to hold itself still with it.

By morning the flood had drawn back into the marsh, leaving reeds in the courtyard and a line of grey silt across every step. Maud climbed to the gate and ran her thumb along the letters, which the rain had cut deeper than any mason ever had. She decided it was the most useful thing anyone had ever carved over a door.