Fine line black compass rose with a vertical arrow, feather and the letter N, tattooed on the side of a person's ribs.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Compass rose and arrow on the ribs

Fine line · Ribs · Black and grey · Photo

A fine line black ink compass rose sits at the centre of the design, with a vertical arrow running through it, a feather at the top and an arrowhead at the bottom. Small diamond shapes surround the compass, and a single letter N is written above it. The tattoo is photographed on the side of the torso, with a hand and light-coloured top visible at the edge of the frame.

Fine line Geometric Ribs Compass Arrow Feather Star Diamond Key Letter Compass rose

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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

The snow came in sideways across the top field before light, and by the time you reached the gate the fence posts had vanished. Your uncle's voice came back to you from the kitchen: keep the wire under your palm and the north on your left shoulder, and you will not go wrong. The compass he gave you at fourteen sat in your coat pocket, its needle sluggish with the cold. You thumbed the lid open and the glass fogged at once.

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Halfway along the boundary you found the drift that had buried the ewes last March. A feather was caught in the wire, grey and barred, a barn owl's by the look of it. You pulled it free and tucked it behind your ear the way he used to. The key to the feed shed still hung on its loop inside your glove. You had been so sure you'd left it on the hook. Every route across this land had a landmark you had forgotten you knew.

The needle shivered, steadied, and swung north. You walked with the wind at your back, counting posts, until the outline of the barn rose out of the white with its roof bowed under the snow like a bent bow. Someone had left the lamp lit in the lower window. You had not expected anyone to be awake.

Inside, your uncle sat with a mug going cold and did not ask where you had been. He only nudged the stool out with his boot and said the owls had been screaming all night over the hay stacks. You set the compass on the table between you, its needle pointing at the door you had come through, and let the heat creep back into your fingers. It had found its own way home before you did.