Black ink line drawing of a dreamcatcher with a flower-like web, three hanging feathers, spiral swirls and dots, shown as a tattoo design on white with no body part visible.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Dreamcatcher with feathers and swirls

Black and grey · Flash

A black ink drawing of a dreamcatcher with a hoop decorated with spiral curls and small dots. Inside the hoop is a radiating flower-like web, and three feathers with beaded strands hang from its base. The linework is bold and even, with hatched shading on the feathers and the hoop, and the design is shown on a plain white background.

Dreamcatcher Feather Flower Swirl Dot Bead Hoop

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The snow had sealed the Hollin Gate road by four, and nobody was leaving until the council ploughs came over the pass. Mrs Ashdown put another log on the fire and told us the spare rooms were all made up, which was a lie, because I had made them up myself that morning and found the third one stacked with boxes.

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The boxes belonged to nobody, or so I thought, until I found a wooden hoop on the sill. Someone had strung a web across it, fine as a spider's work, the thread gone grey with age, and tied on three feathers with glass beads that clicked whenever the draught crept under the door. A man called Alec had booked that room under a name that wasn't his, then walked out into the white at dusk and not come back.

I carried the hoop down to show Mrs Ashdown. She turned it over, counted the petals of the flower at its centre, and said there were eight, the same as the rosette on her grandmother's apron. She hung it back on its nail above the bed and said it would catch whatever the snow left behind. I thought that was nonsense until the morning, when footprints came up the drive from the valley, fresh and stubborn, and we stood at the window counting them.

Alec walked in at nine with snow in his eyebrows and asked for his key. I gave it to him without a word. By the time I went up to change the sheets, the hoop was gone from the nail, and the sill was dusted with flakes in a neat ring, as though someone had set a cup down there and lifted it again.