Close-up of a hand with the word Believe in fine black script lettering on the inner wrist, against a plain light background.

Believe script on the inner wrist

Lettering · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

The photograph shows a hand, palm facing away and fingers slightly curled, with the word Believe written in a flowing cursive script on the inner wrist. The linework is thin and even, in a dark ink with no shading. The plain grey-white fabric backdrop keeps the focus on the tattoo and the hand.

Lettering Fine line Forearm Believe Script Word Wrist

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The lamp in the Hollin Gap hut had gone out twice that winter, and Maud Eccles had relit it both times with the same tinderbox, swearing at the wick. Tonight the wind came off the scree like something with a grievance, rattling the shutters. Down on the track below the cairn, a single lantern was swinging, slow and uneven, the way a man walks when he has lost the path and will not admit it.

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She took the rope from its peg and went out. The snow was thin on the stones and bright enough to read by. The lantern belonged to a carter from Sedbergh named Joseph Raine, who had sworn in the Lamb two nights before that he would cross to the valley farms before the weather turned. She found him sitting against a boulder with his cuff pushed back, rubbing at his wrist where the skin had been rubbed raw by a strap. Written there in the dimness of his own pulse was a word in looping hand, the ink gone blue with cold: Believe.

"My mother wrote it," he said, when she asked. "Stitched it on my glove cuff when I was a boy. The glove wore through years ago. I had the words put on me instead, so they'd not go the same way."

Maud tied the rope under his arms and talked him down the slope, counting cairns in the old way, one hand on the stones. Near the bottom he stopped, looked back up the pass, and said nothing for a long while.

In the morning the hut lamp was lit and burning steady. Maud found a scrap of paper pinned under the door, in the same slanted script that had been on the carter's wrist, though she had not seen him write it. It said only: keep it trimmed, it will hold.