Black and grey photo of a fine line arrow tattoo running diagonally up the inner forearm, with an outlined arrowhead at the top and small fletching at the base.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Fine line arrow on a forearm

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A single arrow is drawn in thin black linework, with an open outlined arrowhead near the top and three short angled strokes forming the fletching at the bottom. The arrow runs diagonally across the forearm against plain, evenly lit skin. Part of another outlined tattoo is visible at the upper right edge of the frame, out of focus.

Fine line Forearm Arrow Arrowhead Fletching

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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 arrow Dai loosed off the top of the spoil heap that August never came down where anyone expected, so the whole village spent the next week searching the wrong fields. Mam sat on the step fletching the spares with three goose feathers from the Pritchards' yard, cutting each vane at a slant and binding it with waxed thread, because she said a bad fletch was worse than none at all and we would all pay for it.

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Dai was fifteen and had been promised a place on the colliery shooting team once he could hit the pit wheel at two hundred yards, which nobody believed he could do. The arrow went clean over the wheel, the whistle blew for the shift change, and by teatime there were four boys in wellies walking the hedgerows with sticks, calling its name as though it might answer.

It was Mrs Hollins who found it, stuck point first in her allotment gate with the shaft still humming. She did not hand it over straight away. She stood with one hand on the wood and asked Dai what he had been aiming at, and he said the top of the hill, and she laughed so hard she had to sit on the water butt.

I have it now, in the drawer under the good tablecloth. Dai went to Canada in the spring and the team went on without him. Some mornings I take the arrow out and hold it to the window, the feathers gone grey, the point still sharp enough to nick my thumb, and I set it aiming up the valley, past the wheel, toward whatever he could not see from here.