Follow your heart script with arrow on forearm
Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo
The tattoo reads "follow your heart" in a thin, joined cursive script that runs diagonally up the forearm. Beneath the lettering, a slim arrow with a small solid heart on its shaft sits on a similar angle. The work is all black ink with fine, even linework against pale skin, shown on a plain light background.
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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction
Shut the door properly, Dennis, or the snow will come in and sit with us. There. Now, you want the story of the fletcher's girl, and you'll have it, because it's snowing and nobody's going anywhere until the Dunmore road is cleared.
Keep reading
Her name was Nell Harrow, and she was sixteen the winter her father set the last of his arrows on the bench and told her the workshop would be hers by spring. Every shaft in that place had a little mark he cut with his knife, a notch, a dot, a heart if the fletching was particularly fine. He said a good arrow should know where it was meant to go. Nell said she wanted to know that herself first.
So on the night of the big frost she took a bow down from the wall, wrapped a flask of his cider inside her coat, and walked out past the mill pond to the old stone stile, where the Dunmore coach used to pull up before the bridge fell. She had one arrow, with a heart she'd carved on the shaft the evening before, and she loosed it into the white field without aiming at anything at all.
Her father found the shaft at dawn, standing upright in a drift a long way off, pointing north where the hills went blue. He followed it. He said afterwards that he walked for most of the morning and never once lost the line, and at the top of the rise there was a girl sitting on her own pack with frost in her eyebrows, grinning like she'd won a bet with the weather.
They say the arrow is still up there, bound into the wall of the chapel at the top of Hollin Fell. Nobody has ever taken it down, and the snow has never once buried it. Now, Dennis, the door.
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