Close-up of a small black fine line arrow tattoo on the inner wrist and forearm, with a hand resting above it and a plaid sleeve below.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Fine line arrow on the inner wrist

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A single black arrow runs diagonally up the inner wrist and lower forearm, pointing towards the hand. The linework is thin and even, with simple shaft and feathered fletching, and the ink is solid with no shading. The photo is taken indoors on a bed with cream bedding and a red and blue plaid sleeve, and the hand is partly in frame.

Fine line Forearm Arrow

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The goose feathers were wet from the mere again, and Brother Simon swore at them under his breath, the way he swore at everything since the abbot put him in charge of the butts. I did not look up from my bench. Three dozen shafts were wanted before Lady Day, and a priory that kept the tithe of the whole eel-fen had decided it could no longer rely on prayer to keep the reavers off its causeway.

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A good arrow is a lie told carefully. You cut each feather on a slant so that it turns the shaft as it flies, and you bind it with thread drawn through beeswax three times. Simon never learned to lay the fletching straight. I took his last bundle from him, set it aside, and made my own, ending with a single shaft cut plain, its feathers only at the nock, the way my first master taught me to fletch for the one who would shoot it and no one else.

On the night of the thaw a lantern showed on the far bank, blinking three times and then going dark. It was the signal the ferryman's daughter had used all winter to say her father still lived. The watch on the wall was thin. I went up with the plain arrow and a bow nobody had strung since my novice days. The wind came from the west. I drew until my arm shook and let it go toward the light.

In the morning Simon found the bow propped against the parapet and asked who had shot it. I told him the truth, which was that the arrow had gone exactly where it was aimed. He did not understand, and I did not explain. A fletcher only makes the shaft. The wind and the aim belong to someone else.