Fine line tattoo of a rounded cartoon creature with pointed ears and a green sprouting seedling, on pale skin.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Cartoon creature and green sprout on skin

Fine line · Other · Mixed · Photo

A rounded cartoon creature with pointed ears and wide round eyes is drawn in a thin black outline, with a single stem rising from its back to a pair of green leaves. The linework is even and fine, and only the leaves are filled with colour, in a bright green. The composition sits the figure at the lower left and the sprout at the upper right against plain, pale skin.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The last cistern at Hollin Reach had gone green the spring the rain stopped, and Maud Ferrier was the only one left tall enough to reach its lid. Her grandmother had called the thing under the old pylon Hob, a round grey creature no bigger than a bread bin. Maud had never believed her. She believed it the morning she found it in the dust at the pylon's foot, ears pricked, eyes wide on the empty sky.

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It did not run. It looked at her the way a dog looks at a closed door. She had a heel of bread in her apron, so she broke it and set it down, and the creature ate with small, careful bites, crumbs catching in its whiskers. When it had finished, a thin stem pushed up out of its back, unfolding like a fist opening, and at the top two green leaves came loose from their wrapping and shone in the flat white light. Maud had not seen green in eleven months.

The creature turned and walked to the rubble wall behind the pylon, where a seed had rooted in a split of mortar and was dying of thirst. Hob had been carrying it. Maud fetched water in her grandmother's tin cup, one cupful each dawn, and poured it at the root while the creature watched. The stem leaned toward her a little more each morning, until she could not tell whether she walked to the water or the water came to her.

Forty summers on, the sprout is an ash taller than the pylon. Maud's granddaughter carries the cup up the path each dawn while the round grey shape sleeps in its shade, ears twitching at her footsteps. Nobody asks what Hob wants any more. They know it only wants the cup filled.

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