Black dotwork compass rose tattoo with a stippled sun-like halo and four arrowed points, on the inner upper arm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Dotwork compass on inner upper arm

Dotwork · Upper arm · Black and grey · Photo

A solid pale circle sits at the centre of the design, with arrows pointing north, south, east and west and dashed diagonal lines between them. The surrounding halo is built from fine stippled dots that fade outward, with short radiating marks around the edge. The tattoo is in black ink only and is shown on the inner upper arm against a dark chair and wooden floor.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The snow came in sideways off the top field, so thick by four o'clock that I could not see the gatepost I had been leaning on. Dad's brass compass was still in my coat pocket where I had found it on the hook, the glass fogged and the needle wobbling. I held it flat on my palm the way he taught me and waited for it to settle.

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Ewes were out past the dyke somewhere, and the collie had gone ahead barking at nothing I could see. I turned until the needle lined up with the lane and walked with my eyes narrowed for the first twenty steps, counting under my breath. Snow caught on my lashes like fine sugar. Each time the flakes thinned I found the sun through the cloud, low and white and pale as a plate, the only thing up there that did not move.

I found the ewes bunched against the hawthorn hedge with steam rising off their backs. Nine of them. I counted twice, then a third time, because counting was the one thing keeping my hands steady. The dog came back wagging, pleased with himself, and we drove them along the wall with the compass clicking shut in my fist every time I checked it.

Back in the kitchen Mum looked at my frost-stiff hair and didn't ask. She turned the compass over and read the back, where Dad had scratched his initials and a grid reference nobody had ever used. "He reckoned it'd always bring you home," she said. "He never said you'd have to walk it yourself." I set it on the windowsill beside the kettle, needle still, and watched the light go out over the top field like a lamp turned down by a careful hand.

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