Black and grey fine line tattoo of a mountain range and pine forest inside a leaf-shaped frame of branches, with a small moon above, on a forearm.

Mountain landscape in a pine branch frame on a forearm

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A mountain range with a small circular moon sits above a hatched forest of pine trees, all enclosed in a teardrop-shaped outline. Sprigs of pine branches curve around the edge of the shape and extend to a point at the base. The work is in fine black linework with dense hatching for shading, shown in black and grey against a plain skin background.

Fine line Botanical Forearm Mountain Pine tree Forest Moon Landscape Branches

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The moon was still hanging over the pine ridge when I slid the first trays of loaves out of the oven, and Tam Rennie was already on the back step, stamping frost off his boots and pretending he had only come for the cold air. He always came at this hour. The sawmill started at six, and he claimed a man could not swing an axe on an empty stomach, though I had never seen him swing anything heavier than a teacup.

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I set the tray on the cooling rack and watched the steam climb past the window. Beyond the yard the hills stood in their black ranks, the firs thick on the lower slopes and thinning to bare rock where the peaks broke the sky. My grandmother used to say the bread knew the weather before the farmers did. This morning the dough had risen slow and tight, and she would have called that snow over the pass.

Tam asked why I looked worried, so I told him about the order from the lodge, forty rolls for a wedding nobody had mentioned until yesterday. He laughed and said the lodge always wanted more than it paid for. Then he went quiet, looked past me at the frost on the glass, and said his father had walked the high path every winter with a loaf inside his coat for whoever was caught out there. Nobody had ever come back to pay for those loaves.

I wrapped the rolls in cloth and gave him the heel of the morning's bread for the road. When the door closed, the moon had slipped behind the nearest peak and the valley went blue, then grey. I counted out forty rolls, then one more, and wrapped that one separately with a note in my neat hand: for whoever is on the path tonight. I set it on the step, where the frost would not reach it, and went back to the ovens before the light came up over the firs.