Black ink tattoo of a sword with a branching tree, crown-like top and small stars above it, on the outer lower leg.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Sword and tree on a lower leg

Calf · Black and grey · Photo

The tattoo shows a large upright sword, with its blade running down the leg, and a branching tree above the hilt, with a crown-like shape at the top and small star shapes around it. The linework is bold and dark, with shading on the blade and tree that gives it some depth. The design is shown in black ink on skin, against a carpeted floor and a bookshelf in the background.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Mairwen had been told the blade was only good for hanging over a hearth, so when the smith's widow pressed the broken hilt into her hands she carried it three days to the wrong forge. The first smith wiped his palms on his apron, said the steel was sound but the tang had snapped clean, and that nobody in the valley could weld a line that old without ruining the grain.

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She went on to the river town of Hollin Ferry, where a man named Tobiah Crane kept a furnace under a leaning barn and charged by the hour of light. He turned the pieces over beneath a lamp and asked what she meant to do with it. She said she did not know, only that the old tree on the bluff above the ferry had dropped its last leaf the spring her father drowned, and she wanted something to put back among its roots.

Crane said nothing for a long while. Then he raked the coals, and they worked through the night, folding the blade over a fresh core while the stars wheeled slowly past the gap in the barn roof. At the third heat he set a small crown of iron pins into the pommel, because his grandfather had told him a sword that has been broken needs something to remember when it is brought back.

At first light they carried the blade up to the bluff and pushed its point into the soil at the tree's foot. Before the sun cleared the far hill, pale buds had split along the grey bark. Crane whistled as if someone had paid him twice. Mairwen laid her palm on the cold steel and felt it warm under her hand, the way a hearth does when the fire has only just caught.

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