Colour neo-trad tattoo on a thigh showing two stylised figures facing each other inside a heart frame, with a green dragon below.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Two figures and a dragon in a heart on a thigh

Neo-trad · Thigh · Colour · Photo

A photograph of a colour tattoo on the thigh. A woman with braided blonde hair and a bearded man with dark hair face each other inside a spiked, heart-shaped frame, with a green dragon at the bottom. The piece has bold black outlines, flat teal and green fills and soft shading, set against the skin.

Neo-trad Thigh Woman Man Dragon Heart Braid Beard Frame

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Maud had cut her braid the winter the mill burned, and by spring it had grown back thick enough to pin with a bone comb. The village of Hale Ashby kept its distance from the wood beyond the orchard wall, where the trees grew close and the paths turned back on themselves. Nobody went in after dark. Corran went in every evening, whistling, with a basket of bread on his arm and a limp he never mentioned.

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He found the egg under a fallen oak in the second week of June, green as river glass and warm as a loaf. Maud did not want it. She said so loudly enough that the miller's wife came out to listen. But when the shell cracked on the kitchen table, the small creature inside looked up at her with a face like a question, and she was already reaching for the milk.

The wyrm grew faster than anyone thought wise. By autumn it could climb the orchard wall and sit on the chimney stack like a weathervane, and the village children stopped hiding from it and began leaving it windfalls. Corran built a flat stone shelter in the clearing where the three of them ate their suppers. Maud taught the creature to fetch, and it taught her that a fire could be lit by breathing slowly on a dry twig.

When the mill men came up the lane with torches in the first frost, Corran was the one who stood in the gate. He did not raise his hands. He only said her name, the way he always did when the bread was ready, and the wyrm unfolded itself from the chimney and dropped soft as ash into the lane. The torches went out one by one. Nobody in Hale Ashby spoke of it after that, though the children still leave windfalls at the edge of the wood.