Scattered star tattoo on the neck and upper back
Neck · Black and grey · Photo
A person is photographed from behind, with the head turned away and red hair pinned up. A trail of small solid black stars of varying sizes runs from the nape of the neck down over the upper back, becoming sparser towards the shoulder blade. The image is in natural colour, with the black ink standing out against the skin and the black ruffled neckline of the top in the foreground.
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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction
The snow has shut the pass since noon, and the innkeeper's boy has already carried the last coal up to your room, so you sit by the kitchen range with a cup of mulled cider going cold in your hands. Outside, the lamp above the stable door swings and loses its light in the drift. Nobody has come up the road tonight. You had counted on one more coach, one more traveller to share the bill of fare, but the sky has closed like a lid.
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Mrs Harrow, who keeps the house, sets a tin of biscuits on the table and tells you the stars came out an hour ago, the first clear sky in a week. You go to the back door and open it a crack. The cold takes your breath. Above the byre roof, scattered across the black like spilt pepper, the stars run in a loose line towards the hills, thick at the top and thinning as they fall towards the valley, the way a dropped chain leaves its links along a path.
Your grandfather used to swear that a line of stars like that was a map drawn by someone who had walked away from home and wanted to be followed back. He would trace them on the frosted glass with one finger, naming each one and calling the faint ones the stragglers. You never believed him. Still, you step out in your boots, crunching up the lane past the frozen well, counting under your breath until the last bright one hangs over the stile where the snow is thinnest.
There is a note tucked under a stone on the stile, a page torn from a ledger. 'Come back in spring. The lane is yours. Bring a lamp.' The hand is your own. You have never been to this valley in your life. Behind you the inn windows glow amber, and somewhere below a door bangs shut.
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