Black and grey photo of three small solid black star tattoos in a descending line on the side of an ankle and foot.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Three stars on an ankle

Ankle · Black and grey · Photo

The photograph shows a bare foot and ankle against a plain light wall. Three small solid black stars of varying sizes sit in a diagonal line on the side of the ankle, the largest in the middle. The stars are cleanly edged and filled, with soft natural lighting across the skin.

Ankle Star Foot

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Sit closer to the grate, all of you, because the wind off the col has got into the rafters again and it will want its share of talk. You've heard about the Vellow road. Nobody crosses it between the first snow and the thaw, and anyone who says he has is a liar or a drover with a dead man's cart.

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Ansel Corrie was neither. He was a carter with a grey mule called Patience, and he had three days' salt and a letter for the priest at Sallow Cross. The snow came down on him at noon, thick as wool, and by dusk the road had gone under it. He sat on the bench with his hands in his armpits and the mule's breath freezing on his collar, and he did what every fool does when he has nothing left. He looked up.

There were three stars that night, low over the ridge, one brighter at the middle and two smaller, set in a slant like a trail of sparks thrown from a smith's hammer. Ansel had no notion of north. He only knew that the stars did not move while the snow did, so he walked the mule towards the lowest one and kept it on his left shoulder, and when it went behind cloud he waited, stamping, until it came back.

Come morning the priest found him at the church door, letter still buttoned inside his coat, mule asleep against the wall. Ansel swore to the end of his days that the stars had walked beside him the whole night. I say they stood still, and that's the wonder of it. Now, who wants the next candle lit?