Fine line black script tattoo reading faith, with the long crossing stroke forming a cross, on the inner forearm, in black and white.

Script word 'faith' on an inner forearm

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A small black script tattoo spells the word faith, with a long horizontal stroke crossing the letter f so that it forms a cross. The linework is thin and even, with no visible shading, set against smooth pale skin. The black and white photograph is taken close up and straight on, with the tattoo centred in the frame.

Fine line Lettering Forearm Faith Script Word Cross

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The mist came down over Ashby Dell the week the ewes went missing, and by the third morning the men had stopped calling into it.

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Old Edith Crane kept the lych gate at the forest edge, and over its lintel the smith had cut one word, faith, in letters so thin you had to stand close to read them. The f was crossed by a long stroke that ran out past the post on either side, so from the lane it looked like a signpost with its arm held level. Edith said the stroke was there to show a body which way was home when every other way looked the same. Her grandson Tom, who was eleven and did not yet believe much of anything, took a stick of chalk and a heel of bread and went up the slope after the sheep anyway.

The trees closed behind him like a door. He could not see his boots. He could not find the chalk marks he had made on the first birches, and after a while he could not tell whether he was climbing or going down. He stopped and counted his breaths the way Edith had taught him. Then he did a thing he had not planned. He held his arm out flat, the way the stroke ran on the lintel, and turned slowly until the cold air came against his left cheek and not his right.

He walked with the wind on that cheek for a long time. Then the ground rose, the birches thinned, and there was the gate, with Edith standing under the word and a lantern in her hand, the ewes already pressed against the rails behind her. She looked at the chalk on his fingers and did not ask where he had been. She only said the kettle was on, and that he had done well to keep the line.