Traditional style tattoo of a crescent moon with a face, a gold star and the words Sleepy Head in script on a forearm.

Crescent moon with face and star on a forearm

Traditional · Forearm · Mixed · Photo

A crescent moon with a stylised face in profile sits at the centre of the design, with a small gold star hanging from its horn on a thin line. The words SLEEPY HEAD arc across the top in bold, tattooed lettering. The moon is shaded in black and grey with a soft pink cheek and gold star, set against bare skin with a blurred dark background.

Traditional Lettering Forearm Moon Crescent moon Face Star Lettering

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

You find the moon wedged in the bell tower of Porthaven Keep, the way a kite gets caught in a chimney. One horn is hooked over the weathervane, his face is turned sideways and pink at the cheek from the cold, and he is complaining in the thin voice of a man who has not slept since the old king's time. "Nobody lets a moon sleep," he says. "Not in Caldermoor. Not with the bakers up at four."

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The kingdom of Caldermoor has never appeared on any map, which suits its people fine. Its laws are written on the insides of teacups and its taxes are paid in candle ends. You climb the bell rope, work him free with a borrowed hay rake, and he tumbles into your arms, heavier than he looks. The gold star on its thread swings between you like a pendulum. "Hold that," he says. "If it goes out, the sea forgets which way is north."

You hold it all night while he dozes in the crook of the belfry, snoring soft silver. The bakers wake, the herring boats strain at their moorings, and somewhere a child cries because the dark has come early and will not leave. You do not let go. You sing the only lullaby you know, the one about the ferryman's dog, badly, until the sky over the harbour begins to thin.

When he wakes he takes the star from your fingers without thanks and tucks it back on its thread. "Good," he says, and yawns so wide the bell rings. Then he is gone, and the only light left in Caldermoor is a pink flush creeping along the edge of the sky, the colour of a cheek that has been out in the cold too long.