Black ink script reading how beautiful on the left foot and a black mountain silhouette tattoo on the right foot, shown on bare feet over carpet.

Script and mountain tattoos on both feet

Lettering · Other · Black and grey · Photo

A close view of two bare feet standing on a carpet, with a fine script line reading how beautiful on the left foot and a solid black mountain ridge on the right foot. The script has thin, even linework, while the mountain is filled with dark ink and has jagged, layered peaks. The image uses only black ink and grey tones against the warm beige of the skin and carpet, and the feet are centred in the frame.

Lettering Fine line Other Script Mountain Quote

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The fiddler at the Lantern Hall in Cwm Dyfer knew only one tune, and he played it every Saturday until the floorboards sagged. The old folk said the ridge behind the village was the back of a sleeping giant, and the hall stood where his heel had pressed the ground. Nobody danced with their back to the window, for that was where the ridge kept watch.

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Mair Pritchard came in late with mud on her hem and a bargain on her tongue. Her brother had gone up the scree in the thaw and not come down, and the hall-keeper, Dai Corrie, swore the ridge would give him back to whoever danced until the last note, provided they did not stop to look. So she danced. She danced past the midnight bell, past the tallow guttering in its dish, past the moment her partner's hands turned cold as slate. Each turn she kept her eyes on the boards and counted them, because the ridge was jealous of anyone who admired it.

At the last chord, with grey light creeping over the sill, the fiddler let his bow fall and said, quite plainly, "Look, then." Mair looked. The peaks stood black against the dawn, jagged and layered like a page of torn ink, and the words rose in her before she could stop them: how beautiful. The ridge took the sound and kept it. Outside on the step her brother sat with mud to the knee, asking why the hall had gone so quiet.

Dai swept the floor that morning and found, pressed into the wet dust beside the door, a ridge of dried mud in the shape of a mountain line, as though someone had walked out sideways and left a little of the hill behind.