Black line tattoo of a small round antlered creature with hatched shading on the inner forearm near the wrist.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Antlered creature on a wrist

Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A small, round, cartoon-like creature with tall curved antlers or ears and stubby feet is drawn in black outline. Hatched and cross-hatched strokes shade the head, side and lower body, and the lines look slightly loose and sketched. The tattoo is in black ink only and sits centrally on pale skin against a speckled grey surface.

Forearm Creature Antler Animal Cartoon

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Take it to an artist as a reference. A good artist will make it yours rather than copy someone else's tattoo.

A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Pull that stool closer, the stove's only good for the one side of you. Ned Harrow kept a hen house at the top of Coldharbour Lane, and one February he woke to find a thing sitting in his feed bin with its antlers caught in the sacking. It was no bigger than a loaf, round as a churn, with two stubby feet that didn't reach the bottom of the bin and eyes like wet slate. It looked at him the way the bull looks at a gate it has decided to open.

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Ned called it Button, because he could not think what else a thing like that should be called, and it followed him about the yard like a dog that had never been taught to be a dog. It ate the turnips he had meant for the pig. It tangled itself in the washing line and hung there, swaying, until Mrs Harrow came out with the peg basket and told it to stop showing off. The frost came down hard that week. The ewes stood in the lee of the barn and wouldn't go out, and the sheepdog would not leave the back step.

On the coldest night the lane went white and the lamp in the lambing shed guttered. Ned found the creature standing in the straw with a lamb between its feet, nudging it up with the rough crown of its antlers. The ewe was down and would not rise. Button leaned its whole round weight against the lamb until it bleated, then turned to Ned with a look that said plainly the rest was his to do.

The lamb lived. Ned swore the creature was gone by spring, though the feed bin was never quite the same shape, and the gate latch he never got round to fixing still lifts on its own when the wind comes from the north. So if you hear something knocking at your back door this winter, don't be too quick to open it. Mind the feed bin, and mind the turnips.