Enlarged with AI from a smaller original
Small wing tattoo on a wrist
Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo
A small outlined wing tattoo sits on the inner wrist, angled towards the hand, with its feathers drawn as thin grey lines. The hand is open and relaxed, with pale yellow nail polish, against a dark floral skirt and a pale yellow sleeve. The ink is a single grey tone, and the tattoo sits near the centre of the frame with the wrist and hand as the main subject.
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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction
Sit nearer the fire, it only warms those who crowd it. You have all crossed the Hollow Pass in your time, so you know the wind up there has teeth. Old Nia Pritchard knew it too. Every autumn she climbed with a mule called Bran and a sack of salt, because the valley below had none of its own.
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The last autumn she went up, the snow came early. Halfway to the top she found a wing lying across the path, grey and folded, its feathers drawn as thin as pencil lines. No bird she knew had a wing that small, and it was cold as a door key, but it was not frozen. She tucked it inside her coat, against her ribs, where the heat was.
At the summit, beside the cairn where travellers leave a stone for those coming after, she heard a voice asking the way down. A boy stood there with no coat, only a thin shirt and eyes like a hare's. Nia had one spare blanket and a sack of salt that was worth more than the boy's whole village. She gave him the blanket. When she unbuttoned her coat, the wing slipped out, caught the wind, beat once and then again, and settled on the boy's shoulder as if it had always been waiting there.
Bran walked them both down through the thaw. When the valley lights showed below, the boy was gone and the cairn had one more stone on it than before. Nia never said what she had given away. Her coat smelled of cold feathers all that winter, and after that the mule walked past the third bend without being asked.
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