Two pairs of hands held together, each middle finger showing a small colour unicorn head tattoo with a pink mane, on the hand.

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Matching unicorn tattoos on two fingers

Hand · Colour · Photo

Two clasped fists show matching small unicorn head tattoos on the side of the middle fingers. Each unicorn is shown in profile with a pink and purple mane, a curved horn and an outlined face. The linework is clean and the colour is soft and pastel, with light shading in the mane, against the skin tones of the hands and a patterned top behind.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The seed radio went quiet on the third day of the drought, which is how Maren knew the gene-stock had gone for good. We were up on the seed tower with the dust weather coming in off the flats, and she held her fist out the way we'd done since we were nine, knuckles up, the little pale unicorn on her middle finger turned toward me like it was listening.

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Our mothers had gone under the ice to the archive vaults when the last grain board failed, and they'd left us a rule: nobody on the tower leaves without the other. We had inked the pair of them with a needle made from a melted solar fin and a dye boiled out of beet skins, and it had hurt like a wasp sting, and Maren had cried and then laughed about crying. The unicorns were the only thing in the old picture-books that ever looked as if they could run faster than the weather.

On the morning the salvage crew came up the ridge with their rigs, Pell Dunmore offered us a berth on the trader's skiff if we'd leave one of us behind as collateral. He wanted the younger one. He said it with a smile, and I saw Maren's jaw go tight the way it did before she punched someone. I looked at her fist, at the faded rose-and-violet mane curling over her knuckle, and I knew what the pact meant before she did.

So we went together, both of us, and the skiff took us down the ridge at dawn with the tower shrinking behind. Pell never got his collateral. Somewhere past the salt pans Maren spread her hand flat on the rail, and I laid mine over it, two little horned heads pressed palm to palm against the wind, and the sun came up through the dust the colour of the ink.

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