Fine line feather tattoo in pale white ink on the inner forearm near the wrist, with a raised hand and silver chain bracelet visible.

Feather tattoo on inner forearm

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A single feather is tattooed vertically on the inner forearm, just above the wrist. The feather is drawn with fine, delicate lines in light or white ink, with a central shaft and branching barbs. The background is a plain pale wall, and the hand is raised in a loose fist with a silver chain bracelet and dark cord around the wrist.

Fine line Forearm Feather

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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

Brother Osric has taken the quill from your hand twice this week, and each time he holds it up to the window as though the ink might confess something. You were told the white ink was made from crushed shell and gum arabic, that it would sit on the vellum like frost and dry without shine. It does. Nobody else in the scriptorium can draw a line this fine, which is why Abbot Hale gave you the psalter that no novice is meant to touch until Easter.

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The gulls on the harbour wall have started nesting on the chapel roof, and every morning a single grey feather lands on the sill beside your inkpot. You have stopped sweeping them away. Instead you copy them, one stroke of barb at a time, letting the shaft run long and pale down the margin of a psalm about the wings of the morning. The brothers say it is vanity to draw birds where the Word should sit. Osric says it is a fault in the ink, and then he says nothing at all when you show him the next page.

On the last night before matins the candle gutters, and when you bend close the white strokes have lifted from the vellum in a faint, cold relief, like a feather pressed under glass. You cannot tell whether it is a sign or only the damp off the sea. Osric arrives with his lamp, looks at it for a long time, and then sets his own pen down beside yours without a word. In the morning there is a second feather beside the first, its shaft a little crooked, its barbs drawn by a hand you know well.