Fine line black tattoo of three arrows with feathered fletching running down the inner forearm above the wrist.

Fine line arrows on a forearm

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

Three thin arrows with feathered fletching and arrowheads run vertically down the inner forearm, pointing towards the wrist. The linework is delicate and even, rendered in solid black ink with no shading. The photo is in natural light against a plain grey background, with a thin silver bracelet on the wrist.

Fine line Forearm Arrow Feather

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The goose feathers had to be stripped before the frost got into the quills, so Mabel Rook worked at the bench by the eel-trap door with the wind pushing through the cracks. Three ash shafts lay in the rack, straight as bell ropes, and she had cut the nocks herself the night before. Her brother Tom wanted them by dawn. He was leaving on the Ely barge with the militia and had no notion how to tie a feather true.

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She bound the first fletching with waxed thread, three grey-barred mallard feathers spaced a thumb apart, the ones she had kept back from the cook pot. The second she made longer, because the wind over the Ouse runs crooked in the afternoons, and she set its head with a blackened iron point hammered from a broken harrow tooth. The third she left unpointed, only sharpened, because she had already decided it would not be fired at a man.

Tom came in with his boots full of mud and weighed each arrow in his palm the way their father used to weigh a pike. "Which is mine?" he asked. She said the one with the longest fletch. He laughed and said that one would fly furthest and fall furthest too. She did not answer. She had seen the three pale strokes of the dyke-water in the glass that morning, and she knew which way the arrows would go whether anyone aimed them or not.

At first light he went out with the bow across his back. She heard the twang from the far bank, then nothing. When the mist lifted she walked the dyke and found the third arrow standing upright in the reed bed, its tip driven into the peat and pointing home. She pulled it free and carried it back to the bench, and it hangs above the door there still.