Two fine line botanical tattoos in black ink, a lavender sprig on the left and a slender branch with small berries on the right, placed across the upper chest below the collarbones.

Fine line lavender and branch across chest

Fine line · Chest · Black and grey · Photo

The photograph shows the upper chest and collarbones of a person wearing a black camisole, with the face out of frame. Two botanical designs sit either side of the centre: on the left, a lavender-like sprig with leaves, and on the right, a thin branch with small sprigs and berries. Both are drawn in delicate black single lines with light shading, set against plain pale skin and a white wall.

Fine line Botanical Chest Lavender Branch Sprig Leaves Berry Foliage

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The wind off the salt flats had taken the topsoil again, so Maren walked the terraces with a cloth bag and blunt scissors, cutting whatever still held a little green. She did not need to look for the lavender. It had gone down the eastern slope in the dry year, and the only sprigs left were the ones her grandmother had pressed flat inside the almanac, brown as tea leaves and smelling faintly of rain.

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The old people said a house could be held to its ground if two things grew on either side of its door: a sprig of the purple that smelled of clean linen, and a branch from the north ridge, thin as a hair and hung with berries nobody was fool enough to eat. Nobody had seen the ridge branch fruit in forty winters. Maren climbed up anyway, past the wind-scoured stones, and found the tree bent flat to the ground, one limb still reaching for the sun like a question. She broke off a length no longer than her forearm and wrapped it in wet moss.

At the house her brother Tobiah was mending the gate with wire from a broken drone. He watched her lay the sprig on the left of the lintel and the branch on the right, then said she was wasting good cuttings on a story. She told him nothing was wasted that was given back. He laughed, the laugh turned into coughing, and she went inside to boil water so he would have something warm to hold.

By morning the wind had come up hard from the flats, rattling the shutters and lifting grit against the glass. Maren stood at the window and watched it split around the doorway, pass either side of the two cuttings, and drop softly on the step as if it had been told where to go. Tobiah slept through it. The lavender smelled of rain, and somewhere on the ridge a single berry dropped into the moss.