Hand-drawn blue and teal dragon wing designs on brown kraft paper, shaded with marker and dotted highlights, beside pens and brushes.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Blue dragon wing design on kraft paper

Colour · Flash

Two dragon wings are drawn in layered shades of teal, turquoise and blue, with a swirling marbled texture across the membranes and white dot highlights along the bones. The wings are drawn in a fine, sweeping outline with some ink lines, and they overlap diagonally across a sheet of kraft paper. Coloured pens, a fine-tipped marker and paintbrushes lie beside the sheet on a grey concrete surface.

Dragon Wing Design

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

"Cook, you've let the custard catch again," Haddow said, but he wasn't looking at the pan. He was looking through the galley hatch at the grey water, where something the colour of lagoon glass was unfolding out of the cloud. I had cooked aboard the Marisol nineteen years and heard the men swear about sea dragons in their bunks, but I had never expected to see one, and I had certainly never expected wings like that.

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They came down slow, two of them, membranes swirled like the ripple a spoon leaves in cream, teal and deep blue running into each other, and the white dots along the bones caught the light like salt on a hull. They skimmed the swell and lifted their tips to shake off the spray, and wherever they touched, the sea went briefly milky. The bosun dropped his tea. Nobody thought to fetch the captain. We just stood there with our sleeves rolled, dripping.

What it wanted was not the ship. It hung off the stern where the galley scraps went over the rail, and it waited the way a gull waits, patient and sure. So I fetched the bread ends and the gristle from Sunday's joint and tipped them over one at a time. Each time, the dragon dipped a wing to the water in a small, courteous bow, and the dark swell around it glowed.

We made Lisbon four days late, with a calm sea all the way and a following wind nobody had asked for. The bosun wrote one line in the log, in his careful capitals: COOK FED THE WEATHER. I still have a copy folded in my apron pocket, and I still save the crusts.