Small black fine line crescent moon tattoo on the side of a finger, with a signet ring and two German Shepherd dogs in the background.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Small crescent moon on a finger

Fine line · Hand · Black and grey · Photo

A close photograph of a hand with a small black crescent moon tattoo on the side of one finger, shown in sharp detail. The linework is thin and clean, with no shading and no colour ink. A silver signet ring with a triskele design sits on a neighbouring finger, and two German Shepherd dogs are softly out of focus behind the hand.

Fine line Hand Crescent moon Moon Finger Ring Dog

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Get your feet off the fender, because I'm not telling this twice. You want to know why the two Alsatians at the bottom of Mill Lane wouldn't come in off the moor, and I'll tell you, but you'll hold your tongue while I do it. Ned Parry kept them, a pair called Bran and Sable, and they were the only things in Thornbury that ever took a wet night seriously.

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Every evening Ned walked them up to the stile above the reservoir, and every evening the moon came up thin as a paring from the bread knife. The dogs sat on their haunches and watched it the way the chapel elders watched the collection plate. Ned swore they were counting. Mrs Dunn at the post office said dogs can't count past the biscuits in the tin. But on the night the bridge went out, it was Sable who stood barking at the water until Ned came running with the lamp.

Ned had a signet ring his grandfather brought from Cork, worn silver with three spirals curled round one another like a dog chasing its own tail. He gave it to the lad who'd carried the Harrop children across the flood, and he carved a small crescent into the stile post so the dogs would know where the path turned. The lad kept the ring on his little finger all his life and never once took it off to wash.

So when the reservoir went quiet that winter and the men were out with lanterns, Bran got up from beside the stile, looked at the thin moon, and started down the lane without anyone telling him. Follow the dogs, Ned always said, they know where the water is. They found the lad in the reeds by the sluice, cold but breathing, the silver ring still on his hand. Mrs Dunn never did believe in the counting, but she put a biscuit in the tin for each of them after that, and she never said a word about it.