Black fine line tattoo of a row of old books on a shelf with a small bear leaning against them, on the ribs of a person in a white patterned top.

Row of books with a bear on a ribs tattoo

Fine line · Ribs · Black and grey · Photo

The tattoo shows a row of upright hardback books on a thin shelf line, with a small bear figure leaning against the right-hand end. The linework is thin and sketchy, with light hatching on the book spines and the bear's body. The ink is black and grey, and the design sits horizontally across the side of the ribcage against a red wall background.

Fine line Ribs Book Bear

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The snow came over the pass on the third day of the feast, and by dusk the road to Hallow Cross was gone under white. The innkeeper's wife said it would hold them until Lady Day. Nobody had asked for books at the Stag and Lantern, but the shelf by the hearth held eleven volumes left behind by travellers who had meant to come back for them. Their spines had gone soft and grey with woodsmoke, and they stood upright like men waiting for a coach.

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On the second night the wind worked at the shutters for hours, and Mags Tully, who swept the taproom and counted the candles, took the top book down because she wanted something steadier to listen to. She read aloud badly, stumbling over the long words. When she looked up, a bear was sitting on the settle by the fire. It had frost in its coat and snow melting off its ears, and it did not seem to mind the smoke. It got up without a sound, walked to the end of the shelf, and leaned its shoulder against the last volume so the row would not slide when the stove shook the floor.

After that it came every night. It listened to her read, and when the flue coughed and the books shivered on their shelf, it put out one paw and held them still. The carters who came in frozen swore they had seen a bear reading over Mags's shoulder. The innkeeper called them drunk and told them to sleep.

The thaw came on Lady Day. A carter with a cart and a grey mare came up the road for the books, and Mags stacked them for him, one by one. When she turned round, the settle was empty and the snow in the doorway had already gone to slush. On the bench lay one book she had not seen before, with a pressed primrose keeping the place where she had stopped reading. She finished the chapter alone that night, and the shelf stayed straight.