Black and white photo of two people seen from behind, each with a small fine line flower tattoo on the upper back.

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Matching small flower tattoos on two backs

Fine line · Back · Black and grey · Photo

Two people with long hair are photographed from behind outdoors, with bare shoulders and upper backs visible. Each shows a small, simple flower tattoo drawn in thin black outline with no shading. The tattoos are similar in design, and the greenery in the background is softly out of focus.

Fine line Botanical Back Flower Two people Outline Foliage

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

On Penhallow the spoil heap was called the Grey Hill, because nothing had ever grown on it. The mine had closed the spring the Tregear men struck water, and for thirty years the slag lay bare under the wind. Then one June a single flower came up through the cinders, pale and six-petalled, and the village said it was a judgement.

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Morwen and her younger sister Jenna went up to look at it before the whistle, when the men were still at their breakfast. The mine captain, Silas Tregear, had forbidden anyone to touch the hill, saying the spoil was poisoned with the old arsenic. Morwen did not believe him. She picked a seed head and tucked it into the lining of her coat, and Jenna picked another and put it in her boot, because you could not trust a captain who kept the pit gate locked on a Sunday.

Their grandmother Ada had marked them both the winter before, pricking the same six-petalled shape into the skin of each with a needle dipped in lamp soot, so that a body brought up from the workings could be known by its own flower. Nobody in Penhallow thought it strange. Morwen had taken it for an old wives' tale until the morning the cage jammed at Shaft Four and Jenna was the one at the bottom with the timber on her.

Morwen went down the ladder with a lamp and a bar. By its light she found the cloth of her sister's sleeve, then the soot-dark flower below it, and she knew her by that and by nothing else. They got her up before the lamp guttered. That summer the seeds Jenna had carried from the hill came up the whole length of the spoil, and Silas Tregear, who had never once been able to tell one flower from another, let the village have the Grey Hill for its gardens.