Two matching black lettering tattoos in a Tengwar-style elvish script, one on a forearm and one on a wrist.

Matching elvish script on forearm and wrist

Lettering · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

Two black lettering tattoos set in a Tengwar-style script, one across the inside of a forearm and the other on the wrist of a second arm. The strokes are solid black with smooth, even linework and no visible shading. The warm, slightly soft photograph shows both pieces against plain skin, with the wrist piece angled diagonally.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The ink was never the hard part. My brother Tobiah could mix lampblack and gum arabic in his sleep, but the hooked letters kept going wrong under his hand, so he sat at our kitchen table with a candle guttering and a slate across his knees while the wind pushed at the shutters from the Thornwood side of the lane.

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The clerk who taught us had come out of the forest in the spring, thin as a rake, carrying a satchel of rolled skins and a hazel stick he never set down. He would not say where he had learned the letters. He only said that a script is a promise to be read by someone not yet born, and a promise should be drawn slowly. Tobiah took this to heart. I took it as an insult, because I could write faster than he could and said so.

By midwinter we had enough of the alphabet. Tobiah cut our father's name above the mill door, and I scratched the same name, smaller, into the underside of the wooden bread bowl. He said it was foolish to mark us both. I told him that was the point, because the forest took people, and a name written in two places was harder to lose.

When the thaw came the clerk was gone, and the trees had crept a stride nearer the wall overnight. Tobiah walked out to the edge with a lantern and came back with his sleeve pushed up, turning his wrist so the lines caught the light, black and clean. Then he held his forearm out beside mine. Neither of us spoke. The candle had gone out, and for once the wind kept to the trees.

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