Black fine line tattoo of a bare tree with spreading branches on the upper arm, shown in a close photograph of the skin.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Bare tree tattoo on the upper arm

Fine line · Upper arm · Black and grey · Photo

A single bare tree with a thick trunk and many thin branches spreading into a rounded crown is shown in black ink. The linework is fine and even, with the branches tapering to delicate points and the trunk filled with solid black. The design is centred on smooth skin against a pale background, and the ink is the only colour in the image.

Fine line Botanical Upper arm Tree Branches Trunk Bare tree

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Mind the ice on the third step, the last carter broke his ankle there and blamed the Queen for it, said old Hennick, not looking up from the fire he was feeding with his own bootlaces. Now. You want the tree in the courtyard of Velmere. Everyone wants the tree.

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The tree had stood in that courtyard since the founding of the kingdom, and it had not carried a single leaf in living memory. Its trunk was black and thick as a cart horse, and from it the branches went up and out in fine forks, each one splitting again and again until the smallest were no thicker than a hair. The king's grandfather had ordered it felled. The wood-men came with their saws, and the saws came back with their teeth broken, so the tree was left to stand and be looked at through the glass of the long gallery.

Then a girl named Tamsin Orrel, who kept the pigeons in the east tower, climbed out onto the roof during a January thaw and counted the branches with a stub of charcoal on her wrist. She reached four thousand and six before her fingers froze. She went back the next day and counted again and got four thousand and nine. Nobody believed her until spring came and the tree still refused to leaf, and the pigeons would not roost in it at all, though they roosted on every other ledge in the town.

She wrote the number on the palace gate in white chalk. The king read it, laughed, and had the gate painted over. Every morning after that, someone wrote it again, smaller, in a different hand, until the whole kingdom knew it by heart and nobody could say who had started.