Line drawing of a double-outlined triangle crossed by a horizontal bar, shown as a geometric tattoo design on a white background.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Double-outlined triangle with horizontal bar

Geometric · Black and grey · Flash

A single-colour line drawing of an upright triangle with a smaller inner triangle, both outlined twice. A horizontal bar crosses the lower part of the shape, and the design sits centred on a plain white background. The lines are uniform, thin and crisp, with no shading.

Geometric Triangle Geometric shape Line Outline

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Sit nearer the fire, the back of the room never hears the good parts. No, the chair by the door is fine, that's where the draught comes in and the story goes out with it. Now. You've walked past the stone at Carrick Gap a hundred times, the three-cornered one with a bar laid across its belly. Surveyor Ambrose Tull set it there the year the two valleys went to law over the grazing, and he cut it so the outer edge and the inner edge each had a double line, like a fence doubled for a fool who'd still climb it.

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Nell Sorrel kept goats on the Harrow side, and every second Tuesday she carried her cheese down the old road to the Ffynnon market. The guards at the bar let her through because she never looked at them. She'd stop by the stone, lay her palm on the cold line, and tell her goats what the guards would never say aloud: that a bar is only a bar until somebody stands on it.

Then came the hard winter, when the snow lay so deep the guards went home to their hearths. Nell found Tull's field book in the church chest, and in it a sketch of the pass with one line drawn level and very faint. Beneath it he'd written, Here the melt meets. She followed the bar eastward with her boots in the drift and found a thin stream running under the stone itself, out of the Harrow hills and into the Ffynnon river, with no gate and no guard to stop it.

So when the magistrates ask me which valley the stone belongs to, I tell them it belongs to whoever is downstream of it. Then I get up, take my cheese, and walk the old road like a woman with nothing to declare.