Four small black fine line arrows tattooed in a row on the inner wrist of a hand with black painted nails, shown in black and white.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Four arrows on an inner wrist

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A black and white photograph of a hand with the wrist turned toward the camera, showing four small arrows stacked in parallel rows across the inner wrist. Each arrow has a thin black outline or solid line with a fletched tail and a pointed head, drawn with crisp, even linework. The plain pale background keeps the focus on the tattoo and the fingers, which have black painted nails.

Fine line Forearm Arrow Hand Wrist

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Harbledown Green was half packed away by the time you reached it, the generator coughing under the dodgems and the smell of diesel and fried onions hanging over the mud. The archery booth stood at the far end, its canvas faded to the colour of weak tea. Ida Penhallow sat behind the counter with a tin of pennies and a quiver of four arrows she kept by her knee, two always laid facing east and two facing west.

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"Three bulls in a row and the bear's yours," she said, before you had asked. "Nobody has managed it since the fete at Thorne."

You missed the first target by a yard and the second by less, the feathers snapping against the boards like wet washing. Ida did not comment. She turned the spare shafts over in her lap, tapping them together as if counting something. "My father made these. He said an arrow only flies true if something pulls the other way. Two go out, two come home."

On the third shot you held the bow the way she had shown you, and the arrow hummed out and struck the bull dead centre. Ida did not cheer. She drew the last arrow from the quiver, the one she had kept pointing west all afternoon, and laid it across your palm. "That one's yours to keep," she said. "Don't shoot it at anything you want back."

When you looked round from the car park the booth was dark and the lamps were out, but the four arrows still hung on their nails above the counter, two pointing down the road you had come in on and two pointing at the field where you had been standing.