Small black fine line tattoo of mountain peaks on the upper arm of a person wearing a grey knit sweater.

Mountain peaks on upper arm

Fine line · Upper arm · Black and grey · Photo

A close view of a small black tattoo of jagged mountain peaks on the upper arm, with the arm raised and bent against the body. The linework is thin and sketchy, with some shading in the lower strokes, and the tattoo is shown in black ink only. The background is a soft-focus grey knit sweater and dark top, with warm light coming from the right.

Fine line Geometric Upper arm Mountain Peak

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Before the chapel bell, Ada Pryce had the ovens lit and the dough turned out onto the board, and the boy Tobin stood in the doorway with his breath smoking, looking past her at the window where the hills were only a darker black against the dark.

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'They're not going anywhere,' she said. 'Knead.'

He kneaded. He had kneaded for three winters and still did it as if he was angry with the dough. Out past the last roofs the mountains stood in a row of nine, and his grandmother had told him that a giant who once lived there had baked them, left them cooling on the sill of the world, and never come back for them.

One morning the flour came up short and the carter was snowed in, so Tobin asked whether he could climb to the spring under the high ridge, where the old women said the water came out sweet enough to salt the bread with. Ada looked at the window a long while. 'Take the lamp. Be back before the second oven.'

He climbed through the grey hours with the lamp swinging, and the slope steepened until his hands were on the rock. Snow crusted the edges of the peaks. At the top the sky was going pale over the far side, and he found the spring, a trickle no wider than a thumb, and filled his flask. Then he turned round. Below him the valley was still dark, but one small window glowed, and a thread of smoke rose straight up from the bakery chimney, and he understood that the warmth rising from that chimney was what had kept the mountains standing above it all along.

He came down running. Ada had the second oven lit already. She tasted the water, nodded, and took her knife to each loaf with three quick strokes. When the bread came out the tops were split into jagged ridges, nine to a tray, and Tobin carried them out into the first light and set them in a row on the sill.