Ink and Blood

The mid-day sun was stifling as citizens wandered the markets of the lower city, unfazed by the sweltering heat. But Siggor longed for clear mountain air and winter snow as persistent needle pricks continued to jab his skin. The ways of ink, needle and blood were familiar to his people,but the artistic patterns this skilled artisan could produce made their work seem juvenile by comparison. As another bead of sweat trickled down his arm,Siggor grimaced, knowing he had to hold still or his artist would be furious with him again.

‍