Two people hold hands, showing matching fine line black arrow tattoos on their inner wrists in a black and white photograph.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Matching arrow tattoos on two wrists

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

Two wrists are shown with near-identical small tattoos of an arrow with a feathered fletching and a pointed head, drawn as thin black outlines with a little solid fill. The photograph is black and white, so the ink appears black and the image is composed with the hands clasped in the centre of the frame. The linework is crisp and even, with the arrows set at a slight angle and sitting horizontally across each wrist.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The beck froze hard that January, and the snow lay so deep along the wall between Low Scar and Hunter's Fold that nobody could say any longer whose sheep had strayed onto whose hill. Jonah Pell and Ruth Abbot had not spoken since the autumn sale, when his ram fetched more than her father's, and so they fell out of the habit of walking the wall at all.

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On the morning after Candlemas, Ruth found a bundle of ash shafts in the hay barn, each one whittled to a point and fletched with two crow's feathers. Jonah had left them there. She knew his knife marks. She carried one out to the wall and found him already waiting on the far side with a second shaft in his hand, both of them pretending the weather was the reason for being there.

They agreed to shoot across the gap, one each, and whoever's arrow lodged nearer the other's gate would have the last word on the boundary. Ruth's went high and dropped into a drift on his side. Jonah's struck the top rail of her gatepost and fell back into the snow at her boots. When they dug them out they found both shafts had snapped at the nock, and the feathers of each had bent the same way, as though the wind had been trying to turn them towards each other.

Ruth's mother said it was nothing but frost. Jonah's grandfather said the arrows had sense enough to come home. The wall was never mended that spring. By lambing there were two gates cut in it, side by side, and a single path worn between them that nobody had needed to agree on.

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