Black tattoo of a bird silhouette inside a circle with an arrow passing through it, on the inner wrist.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Bird in a circle with arrow on a wrist

Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A solid black bird silhouette sits inside a bold circular outline, with an arrow running diagonally through the lower part of the ring. The linework is crisp and the fills are solid black with no greys or shading. The tattoo is centred on a pale inner wrist, with a softly blurred indoor background.

Forearm Bird Circle Arrow

Find an artist for this

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

Shut that door properly, the snow's come in already. Now then. The winter the pass closed at Candlemas, there were eleven of us in the Grey Hart and not one horse fit to go round by the lake road. Old Mab Corran kept the kitchen then, and above the hearth she had an iron ring hung from a nail in the lintel. Every Michaelmas she shot an arrow clean through it, so the travellers could see which way the wind had been blowing.

Keep reading

Then the bird came down the chimney. Nobody agreed on that afterwards, but the ashes were disturbed, and a black bird sat on the mantel shaking soot from its wings as if it had flown the whole length of the valley. It had a scrap of oilskin tied to one leg, no bigger than a thumbnail, and it would not let Mab take it. It only waited, turning its head towards the arrow in the ring, until the carter's boy understood. He drew the shaft out and set the ring spinning. The arrow swung round and settled pointing north-east, at the gap in the hills that nobody had thought was open.

We went that way at first light, eleven of us roped together behind the bird. It flew low and stopped on every fence post to wait for us. The snow lay chest-deep in the hollows. Tobias Wren, who had wagered the inn his silver that we'd never reach the far side, was the first to go quiet, and the last to admit he had lost.

The bird never came back to the Grey Hart. The ring stayed on its nail until the lintel rotted, and the arrow stayed in the wood, pointing the way we had gone.