Fine line black arrow tattoo on the middle finger and a curved bow tattoo across the index finger, on a hand resting over maroon fabric.

Arrow and bow on fingers

Fine line · Hand · Black and grey · Photo

A hand rests on a maroon fabric with a grey knit edge, showing two small black tattoos. A thin, curved bow runs along the index finger with feathered ends, and a slim arrow with a fletched tail and a heart-shaped head sits on the middle finger. The linework is clean and uniform, and the image is in black ink only against pale skin.

Fine line Hand Arrow Bow Finger

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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

Mind the windfalls on the path, child, they bruise if you tread on them, and a bruised apple tells on whoever stepped on it. Sit on the wall where the sun's still warm. The orchard at Coldharbour had eleven rows of Bramley and Cox the summer Tomas Pell came up the lane with a bow across his back and not much else, a cough and a debt to a man in Ledbury.

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He took work on the picking ladders, and Maud Harrow, who sorted the fruit in the packing shed and had a tongue sharp enough to peel a pippin, would not look at him once in three weeks. So he cut a bow from ash, its ends curled like fern fronds, and strung it with gut. Every evening he shot at the old crab apple at the top of the far field. He had no iron for arrowheads, so he beat a flat piece from the lid of a plum tin and cut it into a heart, because a heart was the only shape his knife would give him.

One evening the string slipped and the arrow flew wild over the hedge, down into the lower field where Maud was filling baskets. It stuck in the trunk of a pear beside her head. She pulled it free, turned the tin heart over in her palm, and walked the length of the orchard to the ladder where he was perched. She dropped the arrow onto the rung by his boot without a word, and that was the whole of their courting, as far as the orchard ever knew.

She kept it on a nail in the packing shed for forty-one years. When they buried her, the nail was still there with the heart turned to face the gate, so whoever came in would have to pass it first. Go on now, they're only apples. Take one, but mind where you step.