Black and grey hatched sketch of a crouching rabbit tattoo on a woman's forearm, with jeans visible at the hip.

Crouching rabbit on a forearm

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

The tattoo shows a rabbit crouched low with its ears laid back and its front paws tucked under, drawn with dense, loose hatching and cross-hatching. Shading is built from layered grey strokes that give the fur volume, while the outlines are broken and sketchy rather than solid. The design is shown in black ink against light skin, with the arm running diagonally through the frame and denim at the lower edge.

Fine line Forearm Rabbit Hare

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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 hare was not frightened of the dog, Mrs Pelling used to say, only of the quiet afterwards, when the dog had gone and the field had not yet decided whether it was safe. So when the hay wagon came rattling up the lane to Tullock Farm with its lamp swinging, the hare did not run. She folded herself down into the stubble by the gate, ears laid flat against her spine, and waited for the wheels to pass over her shadow.

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Her name was Ottoline Vane, and she kept the bees at the top of the orchard for three summers before anyone thought to ask why the honey tasted of clover and smoke. The farmer's boy found her out first. He had been sent to mend the hives and came back with a split lip and a story about a grey hare that stood up on its hind legs and boxed his ears. Nobody believed him. Nobody believes children about rabbits, Mrs Pelling said, which is why rabbits have always got on so well without them.

The winter the river froze, Ottoline crouched in the barn doorway with her paws tucked beneath her and watched the lamp in the kitchen window go out one room at a time. When the last light went, she went in. She left a single comb on the sill, pale as a moon, and the next morning the bread was baked and the boy had stopped crying about his lip. That is the bargain, Mrs Pelling would say, pulling the blanket up. You keep your ears down, and somebody keeps the fire lit.