Two matching forearm tattoos in black fine line script: the left reads I'll keep you wild above a small outlined triangle, and the right reads I'll keep you safe.

Matching quote tattoos on two forearms

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

Two people's forearms sit side by side, each with a black script quote in a thin, even fine line. The left arm reads "I'll keep you wild" with a small outlined triangle beneath it, and the right arm appears to read "I'll keep you safe". The ink is solid black on pale skin, and the composition is a close, evenly lit crop with the tattoos placed at matching heights.

Fine line Lettering Forearm Quote Script text Triangle Matching tattoo Couple

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Maud found the tent pegs in the potting shed where her father had left them, bent at the tips from the winter he tried to pitch on the ridge alone. She sat on an upturned crate and rubbed the rust off with a rag, listening to Ruth argue with the gate outside. Ruth had the car keys in one hand and a road atlas folded to the wrong page in the other.

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"You're not coming," Ruth said when she came in. It wasn't a question. Their mother's garden had gone to seed around them, foxgloves tall as fence posts, and the bramble had taken the far wall.

"I didn't say I wasn't." Maud pressed a peg into Ruth's palm. "Take this. You'll want something to hammer with on the top."

Ruth laughed, and the sound cracked in the middle. They had made the promise at the kitchen table the night the solicitor's letter came, both of them writing it on their wrists in biro because neither could find paper. I'll keep you wild, Maud had written. Ruth had written I'll keep you safe, and they had sworn it only made sense with both halves side by side.

The triangle was the tent, the cairn, the place they had been going since they were nine. Ruth drove out at dawn with the peg in her coat pocket. Maud stayed to water the foxgloves, which would die anyway, and listened for the gate. It went at noon, and again in the afternoon, and then once more as the light turned gold along the bramble, slower this time, the way Ruth used to knock when she had lost her key and was too proud to say so.