Black and grey photo of a small fine line script tattoo reading miles to go on the side of an upper arm.

Miles to go script on upper arm

Fine line · Upper arm · Black and grey · Photo

A small script tattoo reading miles to go sits on the side of an upper arm, with the lettering running slightly upward from left to right. The linework is thin and even, with solid black ink and no shading. The photograph is black and white, and the arm is framed against a dark top with a pale background.

Fine line Lettering Upper arm Script Word Quote

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

No, sit down, you will not get through that gate any faster for standing in the rain with your hands in your pockets. The lorry from the east will be two hours yet, the way they always are, so let me tell you about Anca and the salt cart while we wait.

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Her father died in the thaw, and there was nobody left on the Mirna flats to drive his last load to the far post but a girl of fifteen and a grey mare called Pelin, who had never once in her life been hurried. The gate shut at dusk. Anca knew this the way you know weather in your knees. So she set off at first light with the sacks lashed down, and the milestones came up out of the snow one after another, each carved with a figure gone soft under the frost and a line of words beneath it that she could not read but had been told the meaning of: miles to go.

By noon Pelin had stopped twice and the sky had turned the colour of pewter. At the fourth stone a man in a fox-fur hat stepped out of the reeds and offered to carry the salt for half its price if she would only hand over the bell from the mare's harness. Anca said no. He laughed and said the road would take the bell from her anyway. She kept walking and kept counting, because counting was the only thing the road could not argue with.

She reached the barrier as the light went. The guard was already reaching for the bar. Anca didn't argue or explain. She put her palm flat on Pelin's neck and let the bell ring once across the empty flats, and the guard, who had heard that bell every autumn of his childhood, lifted the bar and waved them through without a word. Pelin stepped under it with her head high, and nobody in that town ever asked the girl how far she had come.