Two photos of a fine line black infinity symbol with an arrow passing through it, shown on the side of the torso and on the upper back.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Infinity symbol and arrow tattoo on the back

Fine line · Ribs · Black and grey · Photo

The image is a two-panel photo of the same small tattoo: a thin outlined infinity symbol with a single arrow running diagonally through it, arrowhead at the lower left and fletching at the upper right. The top panel shows the design on the side of the torso with dark hair visible at the edge of the frame, and the bottom panel shows it higher on the upper back near the neck. The linework is crisp and even, the image is in a sepia or grey tone, and the design is centred within each framed panel.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Tamsin had been trimming goose feathers since the frost came early, and her father's hands had stiffened too far to bind a shaft straight. The reeve from the town wanted forty arrows by the new moon, each fletched with the same three grey feathers and each shot clean. He tapped the bench with his riding crop. "Make them true. A true arrow goes out and it comes home, or it keeps going for ever. Those are the only two ends I know of."

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She did not believe him, but she worked the glue into the nock by lamplight and listened to the wind try the shutters. At night she sketched on the back of an old tally board: a loop, then a second loop lying on its side, the way the reed-cutters drew the sign for water that never ran dry. She laid a line through the crossing and found that the arrow fitted the figure perfectly, the two bellies meeting at the middle without a seam.

The forty were finished on the last morning of the month. The reeve took the first one out past the sedge and loosed it over the mere. Nobody saw where it fell. Three weeks later a fisher's boy knocked at the door with it under his arm, the grey feathers still tight, the point bright with silt. He said it had been caught in a crown of willows on the far bank, and the willows were so old that nobody could say which of them had been planted first.

Tamsin gave the boy bread for his trouble. Then she went to the tally board and cut a notch at the crossing, a small clean mark, and beneath it she wrote the number thirty-nine. The reeve could have his forty back when he came for them. Some things, she had decided, were meant to stay in the air a while before they landed.

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