Double chevron on the back of the neck
Fine line · Neck · Black and grey · Photo
A small tattoo of two stacked upward-pointing chevrons sits on the back of the neck, just below the hairline. The linework is thin and solid black, with no shading, and the ink reads as crisp against the pale skin. The camera is positioned behind the subject, which shows dark hair pulled to one side and a grey knit jumper, with a blurred indoor background.
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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction
Tobias had counted the stones three times before he admitted the lintel would not come down by dusk. Below the broken gatehouse the carters were already unhitching, and Master Hale stood with his thumbs in his belt, watching the rope go slack against the new block as though it might do better if he simply looked at it long enough.
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"Mark it," Hale said. "Two chevrons, same as the old keep. The men in the next dale will know it means lift from the north face and not the south."
Tobias knelt in the wet grit and drew the chisel point along the stone. He had learned the marks from Hale's own hand, who had learned them from a mason long dead whose initials were gone from the wall. Always up-pointing, because the castle had been built by men who believed nothing fell that had been properly raised. Two strokes, one above the other, cut shallow so the rain would not fill them with moss.
When the lintel finally swung clear that evening, the rope sang and a boy shouted from the wall, and Hale said nothing at all, only took off his cap. Tobias ran his thumb over the mark he had made, feeling the grooves catch on his skin. Nobody would read it for three hundred years, he supposed, and by then the stone would have forgotten the rope, the carters and the dusk entirely.
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