Colour tattoo of a pink flower with blue forget-me-not sprigs and green leaves on a forearm, with the word fearless in black script below.

Pink flower and forget-me-nots on a forearm

Botanical · Forearm · Colour · Photo

A large pink flower with yellow centre details sits at the centre of the forearm, with green leaves to its left and a trailing spray of small blue forget-me-not flowers curving up and around it. Fine black outlines define the petals and leaves, with soft pink and grey shading giving the flower some volume. A thin black script word, fearless, sits below the flower on the inside of the forearm against a dark background.

Botanical Lettering Forearm Flower Pink flower Forget-me-not Leaves Script Fearless

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Below the Gap of Corran, where the track turned to grey scree, a widow named Ilse kept a cart and two thin mules. Each spring the snow let go of the pass a week before anyone trusted it, and each spring she was the first one up.

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The girl she took on, Marit, was afraid of the drop and sang to the mules to keep from thinking about it. Ilse told her the pass had no opinion of anybody. Along the verges grew wild roses, pale pink, and between the stones grew forget-me-nots. Marit picked them and tucked them into her collar until Ilse made her stop, since they would wilt before the summit and then they were only weight.

One October a storm caught them at the Gap. Snow came sideways and the mules planted their feet. Marit lay flat on the boards and wished herself anywhere else. Ilse walked back along the line, unhitched the lead mule, and said what her own mother had said to her: keep to the line of the stones, and the stones will not lie. They came down at dusk with the cart empty and every animal alive.

Next spring a man from the valley came asking who had brought the salt through in the storm. Ilse shrugged and let him ask. When he had gone, Marit found a sprig of forget-me-nots pressed flat beneath the seat, and beside it, scratched into the wood with a nail, one word she had been too scared to say aloud. Ilse had not carved it. She had only walked slower so the girl could keep up, and the girl had supplied the rest herself.