His arms were sleeved in tattoos. Colour swirling with the depth of black-and-white. Flowers, hands, symbols, runes, lines, they all made a patchwork of his power. On his calf, a snake twisted and curled around the mirror image of its shed skin. The other was etched by a hand-poked tattoo, a feminine hand offering herbs to heal. And then, of course, there were the scars. The small one on his face, shaped like a sickle-moon hanging below his right eye, on the edge of his cheekbone. There was a three-nailed slash on his left bicep, camouflaged and embraced by the colour needled there. Above his
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