Black and grey Celtic triquetra knotwork tattoo with shaded interlaced loops on the back of a person's neck, with hair falling around it.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Celtic knot tattoo on the back of the neck

Neck · Black and grey · Photo

A black and grey tattoo of an interlaced Celtic triquetra knot sits centrally on the back of the neck. The loops are outlined in bold black with soft grey shading that gives the bands a raised, ribbon-like depth. The close crop keeps the knot as the focal point, with light, loose hair framing the top and sides of the image.

Neck Celtic knot Triquetra Knotwork Interlace

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The rope had been knotted three times before the miller's youngest came down to the ford, and still the river kept taking it. Bran stood on the wet stones with the ends in his fists and watched the current draw the loop tight, then slack, then tight again, as if it were counting something.

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In the kingdom of Hollin Vale, where the roads ran the way the rivers did, three sisters had been bound by a single cord their mother spun the winter before she died. Idra, Ness and Oonagh were never to walk apart, and the cord was never to be cut. When the old weir gave way in the spring, the cord went with it, caught on the drowned wheel of a mill that no one had worked in forty years. The sisters stood on the bank and wept, and the village sent for Bran because his hands were steady and he was not afraid of the cold.

He went under the weir with a lamp tied to his belt. The cord ran over the wheel, under a beam, and back over itself in a loop that would not come free. He did not cut it. Instead he followed one band with his finger, over and under, over and under, until he understood that the knot had no beginning to pull on and no end to find. It only went round. He worked it loose one crossing at a time, and when he came up into the light his fingers were bleeding and the cord was whole.

He tied it back onto the three sisters at the ford that evening, and Oonagh asked him whether it would hold. He said it would hold as long as nobody tried to find where it started. Each morning after that the three of them crossed together, and the river, which had learned their names, let them go over dry-shod.