Black and grey geometric anchor tattoo with overlapping triangles and small dots, on a forearm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Geometric anchor on a forearm

Geometric · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A black ink anchor sits at the centre of overlapping geometric triangles, with a ring at the top and fine outlines throughout. The linework is clean and solid, with some stippled dots scattered around the lower edge and small areas of shading on the anchor's arms. The tattoo is shown in greyscale against pale skin on a dark background, centred in the frame.

Geometric Dotwork Forearm Anchor Triangle Geometric line Dot

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The bridge at Hallow Fell had been measured three times, and each time the figures came out a little wrong, as if the valley had shifted its ribs while nobody was looking. Dorrin Vale laid his brass instrument across the trestle table at the Crossed Lines inn and tapped the cross-bar with one nail. The landlady, Mrs Ashdown, set down a plate of cold mutton without asking what he had found. She had seen the triangles he drew on the back of the survey sheets, each one nesting inside the last, and she had stopped looking at them.

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He had come up the old drover's road because the county wanted the crossing rated before spring thaw, and because the ring of iron at the summit of the fell, where the anchor-stone sat, was supposed to mark the true level. Every surveyor before him had taken a bearing from it and then gone quiet. Vale took his bearing, wrote the figure, and found the number differed from the one he had written an hour earlier by exactly the width of a sheep's hoof.

In the morning the snow had sealed the road behind him and the stone was ringed with frost. He walked up with the instrument on his shoulder and sighted through the iron eye. The triangles on his sheet lined up perfectly with the arms of the anchor below, and the stippled dots on his page were the lamps of the inn, one for every guest who had ever been snowbound there and never come down. He lowered the instrument, folded the sheet along its crease, and wrote the county a single line: the bridge is sound, the road is not, and the valley wants its anchor kept.