Fine line black tattoo of a pair of antlers with a small cluster of roses at the base, on the upper arm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Antlers and roses on upper arm

Fine line · Upper arm · Black and grey · Photo

A small tattoo of a pair of antlers curving into a U shape, with a cluster of three or four roses and buds at the base. The linework is thin and even, and the roses are lightly shaded in grey. The design is centred on the outer upper arm against plain, pale skin, with a blurred window and plant in the background.

Fine line Botanical Upper arm Antler Rose Flower Bud Deer

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The stag came to the back step again, the way it had every morning since the frost set in, and I left the heel of the rye on the flagstone because my mother always said you never turn away what is hungry before the bells. Its breath hung in the lamplight like something unspooled. The antlers were wide and branched, curving down toward the ears so the whole head looked like a wreath someone had hung on the dark. Dessa called it the bakery's lucky charm. I called it a nuisance with good manners.

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By four the ovens were roaring and the back room smelled of scorched sugar and proof. We were making the rose buns for Mrs Abernethy's granddaughter, forty of them, each with a pale pink glaze and a single sugared petal pressed on top. Dessa rolled the dough in long fat ropes while I tested the rosewater with the tip of my finger, the way my mother taught me, until it tasted of the garden and not the bottle. Outside, the sky was still the colour of slate, and the stag's hoofprints were printed into the white rime beside the bins.

One morning the step was bare. The rose bushes along the yard wall had been stripped to the thorns, buds and all, and the petals lay scattered on the cobbles like something had been opened and left. I stood there with the tray of buns cooling behind me and felt foolish for the small ache in my chest. Then I went back in, tore a plain cob in two, and carried it out to the step anyway. By the time the first van rattled down the lane, the bread was gone and the frost had a new set of prints running off towards the woods.