Black and grey dreamcatcher tattoo with a sunflower-like petal ring and hanging feathers, on the inner forearm.

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Dreamcatcher with sunflower petals on a forearm

Geometric · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A dreamcatcher sits at the top of the design, with a geometric star web inside a ring of broad petals that resemble a sunflower or daisy. Three feathers and loose strands hang from the base, drawn with fine outlines and soft grey shading. The design is entirely in black and grey ink and is centred on the forearm against a dark background.

Geometric Botanical Forearm Dreamcatcher Sunflower Petal Feather Geometric

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Sit closer, and mind the hearth, for the ash gets into everything the way bad news gets into a house. You want to know why Mab Fennick never slept past the first bird? It was the ring she hung above her bed, that great yellow sunburst with a star woven into its heart. Every child in Holloway Edge knew the tale of it, and every child told it wrong.

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The wood beyond the last field was called Greywood, and at night its paths shifted like a sleeper turning over. Mab was a widow who grew sunflowers along her wall because they followed whatever light was left in the sky. One winter the Tanner boy went into the trees after a lost goat and came back three days later with eyes like wet slate. He would not speak of what he dreamed, only kept saying that something had been counting him.

So Mab took a willow hoop, bent it into a ring, and wove a web of ash-wood and waxed thread inside it, pulling the lines tight until they made a star with twelve points that would not let anything through unless it was meant to pass. She cut the petals from split willow, dyed them with marigold, and bound them round the outside so the whole thing looked like the sun had come indoors to rest. From the bottom she hung three feathers from the jay that nested by the well, and loose threads for the questions.

The boy slept under it for a week and woke with his own voice back. Mab's sunflowers, I am told, have faced the wood ever since, and the feathers at the bottom still turn when nobody is breathing near them. So when you go up the lane tonight, keep your face to the window. The web catches what it should, and lets the rest drift back out into the trees, where it has always belonged.