Small colour tattoo of a yellow flower with a grey centre and green leaves on a stem, on the ankle, in a soft shaded botanical style.

Yellow flower with leaves on an ankle

Botanical · Ankle · Colour · Photo

A small tattoo of a yellow flower with petals shaded in orange and a greyish centre, set on a thin green stem with two green leaves. The petals are softly shaded with blended tones, while the leaves have gentle highlights and darker edges. The flower sits on the side of the ankle against a dark background, with the composition centred on the small design.

Botanical Ankle Flower Leaves Stem

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

You reach the col before the snow does, which is the only thing your father ever got right about the Hollin road. The mule has stopped twice already, and the wind presses the letter inside your coat against your ribs, where Mrs Aske told you to keep it dry. Forty miles of stone lie behind you, and ahead is a name you have only heard spoken in the kitchen at Lower Scar: Tomas, who went over the top in August and did not come back down.

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Halfway down the far side, where the scree gives way to a seam of wet rock, you see it. One flower, the colour of a yolk left in the pan too long, its petals ragged at the edges and its centre gone the grey of wet slate. It stands on a stem no thicker than a bootlace, with two green leaves held out like open hands. Nothing up here should be flowering this late. Mrs Aske said as much the day she gave you the letter: the high ground keeps nothing that wants to live.

You kneel and cup the roots in your palm, the way she taught you to lift a seedling, and you could not say why except that the letter feels heavier now. Tomas wrote in the spring that he had found a bloom on the screes that looked like the sun had lost its way. You had thought it a story to keep his mother hoping. You wrap the stem in the damp paper his letter came in and tuck it beside the envelope.

The pass is behind you when you reach the village, and the lamps are lit in Lower Scar. Mrs Aske opens the door before you knock. You hand her the flower, its roots bound in newsprint, and she looks at it for a long time before she says, 'He was right, then,' and goes to find a jar.