Fine line black tattoo of a small bird on a thin trailing line leading to the word Believe in script, on the inner wrist of a raised fist.

Bird and Believe script on wrist

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A small black silhouette of a bird flies along a single thin line that runs into the word Believe in cursive script. The linework is fine and even, with no shading, and the design sits neatly on the inner wrist against a plain pale background.

Fine line Lettering Forearm Bird Believe Script Line

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The frost had kept the yard hard since Boxing Day, and by the second week of January the ewes had stopped lifting their heads when the quad bike came through the gate. You had been sent up to Harrow Top with a bucket of cake and instructions from your uncle Tom to count the lambs twice, not once, because the second count was always the one he trusted. The wind came off the moor sideways and found every gap in your coat.

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At the top wall you found the bird. It was a wood pigeon, or had been, lying in the lee of the drystone with one wing folded wrong and a length of orange baler twine wound through its feet. Someone had tied it there, you thought, or the wire had caught it. You knelt in the wet and worked the knot loose with your teeth and cold fingers, and the pigeon lay so still you were sure it had died, until it tipped its head at you and did not fly.

You carried it down inside your jumper, and for three days it sat in a shoebox by the Aga while Tom muttered about foxes and the price of feed. On the fourth morning the frost broke and the box was empty, the lid pushed neatly aside. The twine lay on the flagstones in a loose line that ran from the back door to the gate, as if someone had laid out a path for it to follow.

Tom said nothing about it. He only handed you the bucket, and when you looked up, a single pigeon was sitting on the top rail of the gate, watching the yard as though it wanted to be sure you would come. You didn't call out to it. You went and counted the lambs, once, and then, because it mattered, a second time.