Two small black outline diamond tattoos, one on the upper arm of a person in a grey top and one on the shoulder of a woman in a striped vest top.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Two small diamond outline tattoos

Fine line · Upper arm · Black and grey · Photo

Two matching small diamond outlines sit on separate people, one on the upper arm beside a grey fabric sleeve and one on the shoulder of a woman in a navy and white striped top. The linework is thin and even with no shading, and the ink is a single dark grey-black. The warm, soft-focus photograph is framed close, with each tattoo placed near the centre of its body area.

Fine line Upper arm Shoulder Diamond Outline Geometric shape

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Hester Vane had walked the frozen furrows since before the snow came, and she knew the sound a spade made when it struck something that was not earth. It rang, thin and high, like a spoon on a glass. She knelt in the mud of the lower field and brushed the clod away with her sleeve until a stone the size of a hen's egg lay in her palm, clear as river water, with a point at its crown and four facets that caught the grey light from the barn door.

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Her brother Tam came over the stile with the lantern swinging. He wanted the stone for the squire, who paid in silver for anything that sparkled. Hester would not give it up. She said the ground had offered it to whoever dug, and she had dug. They argued until the lantern guttered, and in the end they agreed to split the thing. But a stone cannot be halved with a hammer, as every smith in the valley will tell you, so Hester carried it to old Mrs Penrose at the crossroads, who had lived longer than anyone and had nothing left to lose by telling the truth.

Mrs Penrose turned it over once and said it was not a stone to cut at all. It was a promise that had hardened in the cold, and it would part only into two stones of the same shape, one for each who had shared the digging. Then she laughed, and Hester could not tell whether she was being mocked.

That night Tam found a second stone under the frost-killed turnips, exactly like the first, and the two of them sat on the byre step passing the pair back and forth until their hands went numb. Neither of them ever sold a stone. When the squire came asking, they showed him the one in each of their pockets, and he rode off muttering about peasant mischief. The lower field still rings under the spade in hard winters, and folk say it is only the frost.