Enlarged with AI from a smaller original
Clasped hands with roses and rope on a thigh
Fine line · Thigh · Black and grey · Photo
A single-line outline tattoo shows two hands clasped together, holding two roses bound with a knotted rope, with thin stems or rays rising behind them. The linework is uniform and solid black with no shading. The design is centred on the outer thigh against plain skin, with dark clothing at the top edge of the frame.
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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction
Sit closer, the fire is eating the good wood and I will not shout over it. You want the one about the ferry rope? Good. Then hush.
Keep reading
Two girls lived on either bank of the Arrow, where the water runs brown after the spring melt. Ysolde wove rope in the reed sheds on the east side, and Mari kept the flat-bottomed ferry on the west. Every market morning they shouted greetings across the current, and every market morning the river took their words and bent them out of shape. One spring the flood tore the ferry from its posts, and Mari was swept out with it, grabbing for the line. Ysolde ran along the bank, dragging her best hempen coil behind her, and threw it out into the brown water.
Mari caught the end, but her hand was slick and the current wanted her badly. So Ysolde waded in to her waist and took hold of Mari's wrist, and Mari took hold of hers, and they held like that while the sun broke through the reeds in thin bars across the water. Ysolde had tucked two red roses into her belt that morning, meaning to sell them at the bridge, and they were crushed between their palms now, stems bent and bleeding green. When the men came with poles and pulled them out, the knot Ysolde had tied in the rope was still hard as a stone, and the roses were still in their fists.
The ferry was never rebuilt. Mari went downriver to her cousins and Ysolde kept the reed sheds, and every market morning she threw a coil of rope across the water to nobody in particular, and laughed when it fell short. The knot can still be found on the old cable at the crossing, if you know where to look. Now, who wants the last of the bread?
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