Enlarged with AI from a smaller original
Outlined female figure on the hand
Fine line · Hand · Black and grey · Photo
A single-line outline drawing of a standing female figure with one arm raised above the head, shown in profile along the outer edge of the hand and finger. The linework is thin and uniform, with no shading or fill, and the figure wears a sleeveless top and short bottoms. The image is a close, slightly soft photo against a blurred background that includes tattoo flash artwork and a partly visible sign.
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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction
Fourteenth of Wetmonth. The rain has not stopped since vespers and the signal mast on Gannet Head is still dark, because Harl's tinder is soaked through and he will not burn tallow without the Chancellor's seal, which the Chancellor has not sent. So I climbed the hill with my ink-case and watched Marit Sallow do what she always does when the sky goes grey. She stood on the lookout rail with one arm flung straight up and her body leaning out over the drop, the way the tumblers do at the autumn fair, and she waited for the boats to see her.
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She says the fishermen know her outline better than any lamp. Her father was a ropemaker and taught her to hold a line with her whole body, so when the gulls come in low she becomes the mast. Today she held the pose until her fingers went blue and I offered her my cloak, which she refused with a laugh. I asked why she does not simply wave. She said a wave is for people who are already home.
Then the first lugger came round the point, a grey smudge against grey water, and turned for the gap in the reef because it could see her arm against the sky. Two more followed. I wrote the count in the margin of the Chancellor's letter, which I have no intention of delivering tonight.
Marit came down with the wet clinging to her boots and sat by my fire humming the tumblers' song. She did not lower her arm for a long time, as though she had only just remembered it was hers.
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