Small fine line tattoo of two grey shaded mountain peaks on the foot, with stippled shading on the lower slopes.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Two mountain peaks on a foot

Fine line · Other · Black and grey · Photo

A small tattoo of two mountain peaks sits on the side of a foot, with a larger range on the left and a smaller peak on the right. The outlines are thin and dark, and the lower slopes are filled with grey shading that fades into lighter stippled dots. The image is a close crop against plain skin and a grey surface, with the design centred in the frame.

Fine line Dotwork Other Mountain Peak

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Mags, the bandleader, had a rule that nobody sat down during the last waltz, so I was on my feet by the coat check when the stranger came in from the rain with a rolled-up map under his arm. He ordered a half of bitter, unrolled the map across the bar and pinned the corners with two beer mats. Two peaks, he said, tapping the inked ridges. The big range on the left was the Cairngorm side of his father's farm, and the lone one on the right was the hill he had climbed alone the summer his brother went under the ice on Loch Morlich. He had drawn them so often on the backs of raffle tickets that the shading had gone soft at the edges, like damp chalk.

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I asked him why only two when the range on the left had seven. He said the rest were there if you knew where to stand, and that most people only ever looked for the highest point. Then he folded the map along its old creases, left the half pint untouched and walked back out into the drizzle without asking for a lift to the station. The band struck up the last waltz and Mags shouted at me to get on the floor, so I did, turning past the bass player and the sticky tables until the lights dimmed.

When the hall emptied I found the map where he had left it, pushed under a tin ashtray. On the back, in pencil, someone had written seven names along the left ridge, each one crossed out except the last. Beside the lone peak on the right there was only a date and the word Stay.

I keep the map folded in my coat now. On Saturdays, when the last waltz begins, I stand by the door and read the names aloud to nobody in particular, and I never once look at the small peak for longer than it takes to find my place.