Black and grey fine line arrow tattoo with circles, a triangle and dotted details on the inner forearm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Fine line arrow with circles on an inner arm

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A single arrow runs horizontally across the inner arm, with a solid circle and a dotted circle at its centre and a triangle and chevron arrowhead at the tip. The linework is very fine and mostly solid, with small dotted accents and parallel lines along the shaft. The tattoo is black and grey against plain pale skin, set on a dark background and shot in a close, even crop.

Fine line Geometric Dotwork Forearm Arrow Circle Triangle Chevron Line Dot

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Tomas Hale was still binding the last feather when the bride's brother came knocking, two hours before the bells. The arrow was meant to fly from the churchyard wall at noon, and the custom in Lower Wendle was that wherever it came down, the couple would raise their first hearth. Nobody had ever asked the fletcher for a short shaft, and nobody had asked for anything but straight.

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He had cut the shaft from ash, planed it until it hummed under his thumb, and fitted a brass ring at its middle so the light would catch it. Beside the ring he had scored a second circle, pricked out in small dots, because the bride had asked for her own mark beside her husband's. Ruth Carrow had come to his bench in March with her hands in her apron and said she would not be given a house she had not chosen. He told her that was not how the old arrows worked. She laughed and said then she would choose the arrow.

At the wall the groom stood with the bow, sweating and wrong-footed, while the village gathered with their caps in their hands. Tomas had worked out the flight on a slate the night before, allowing for the wind off the mill pond, but he had not allowed for Ruth. She stepped up beside her husband-to-be, took the nock from his fingers, and set the arrow to the string herself. She told him to aim at the weathercock, not the fields.

The arrow cleared the lychgate and the orchard and dropped into the mill race, where the water took it. Nobody built a hearth that day. Instead the couple walked the length of the stream until they found the shaft snagged on a willow root, and Ruth pulled it free and said it had found its own place, which was the same as hers. Tomas never told the story to anyone until he was old, and the arrow hangs in the church now, its brass ring still catching the light.