A seated person in a white t-shirt and ripped black jeans shows a coloured tattoo on the forearm, with the hand resting on the knee.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Forearm tattoo on a seated figure

Forearm · Mixed · Photo

A person sits on a stool in a white t-shirt, black ripped jeans and pink suede boots, with their tattooed forearm resting across the knee. The tattoo covers the forearm and reaches toward the hand, with dark outlines and red and other coloured ink, though the design is partly hidden and hard to make out. The photo is taken from a high angle in a narrow white corridor with a wooden floor.

Forearm Arm tattoo Sleeve Hand

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Sit closer, the lot of you, and mind the sparks, because this is the part where Old Hannah's grandson got the dye wrong. He was meant to be boiling madder root for the Haddow weavers, but he sat down by the mill pond to watch the herons and let the copper pot run dry. When he came back the root had caught and smoked, and the red that rose off it had a black edge like a burnt hem.

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The weavers wouldn't take that cloth, and the miller's boy, who had been sweet on Hannah's girl, bought the spoiled bolt for a shilling out of pity. He folded it small and wore it wrapped round his forearm to keep off the thorns on the forest path to Corran Wood, where the old charcoal burners lived. Every night he unwound it to wash, and every night the red crept further into his skin, and the black lines of the burn drew themselves along his veins like roots through clay.

The charcoal burners laughed at him, but the eldest, a woman with no teeth and fingers stained to the knuckle, looked at his arm and said the wood had taken its payment. She would say no more. Some say the boy walked home with his sleeve rolled down and never showed anyone what he carried. Others say he lifted his cuff at the midsummer fire and the whole village saw red roots running down to his palm, and that is why nobody in Haddow has ever trusted a burnt dye since.