Fine line black tattoo of a feather, a flock of birds and a line of script lettering across the top of a foot, with pink toenail polish.

Feather, birds and script on a foot

Fine line · Other · Black and grey · Photo

A close photograph of the top of a foot showing a black tattoo. A feather runs diagonally along the lower side, with a flock of birds rising from it towards the toes, and a line of script lettering follows the feather. The linework is fine and even in solid black ink, with pink nail polish and a dark leather surface in the background.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Nell had been hauling the same crab pot for twenty minutes when the jackdaws started up over the harbour wall, and she knew before she looked that somebody's dinner was about to be taken. Her brother Tam was already shouting from the slipway. He had found a gull chick under the lifeboat house, too small to be anything but trouble, and he wanted her to tell him what it ate.

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Her grandmother had a saying for chicks that fell out of nests: you don't pick them up, you watch where they go. So they watched. The chick went nowhere for an hour except sideways, flapping its stubby wings against the cobbles while the jackdaws wheeled above, loud and unbothered. Nell thought of the feather she had found that morning on the cliff path, long and grey-barred, and how it had lifted on the wind before she could catch it.

Near dusk the chick stood up on the edge of the wall, wobbled, and dropped off into nothing. Tam yelled. Nell ran. Below, the water was black and the chick was not in it. Instead it was halfway up the wind, beating hard, tumbling once and then catching the air properly, the way a thing does when it has stopped being afraid of the drop.

Tam swore he had seen it fly before it fell. Nell said that was nonsense. Years later, she still kept the grey feather in her tin of sea glass, and she still told the story that way, with the falling first.

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