Black linework tattoo of a fox head framed by flowers and leaves on the upper arm, in a botanical fine line style.

Fox and flowers on an upper arm

Botanical · Upper arm · Black and grey · Photo

A fox's head in profile sits within a frame of five-petalled flowers and serrated leaves. The fine black linework uses hatching and stippling for the fur and shading, and the design is in solid black ink with no colour. The tattoo sits on the back of a bare upper arm against a plain white background, with a white vest top and gold pendant necklace at the left edge of the frame.

Botanical Fine line Upper arm Fox Flower Leaves Floral Animal

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The fox came down the hill the week the blackthorn flowered, and Mrs Ashdown swore she'd never seen a creature so sure of its own road. She kept the orchard gate at Long Meadow and had buried two husbands and a dog, so she was not easily impressed. Still, she left the scullery door open that night and a saucer of milk on the step, the way her mother had done for anything wild that had the nerve to come close.

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The fox did not drink. It sat with its narrow head turned toward the lane and waited, ears pricked, until a cart rattled up from the coast with a boy asleep in the back under a tarpaulin. Mrs Ashdown knew the boy's mother. She knew the constable was three miles off and would not be hurried. She also knew, from the way the fox kept looking at the boy and then at the crooked gate, that somebody was owed a kindness that night, and it was not going to be the constable.

She went out with a lantern and a bramble switch. The hedgerow was thick with dog roses and wild strawberry leaves, and the fox moved through them like it had woven them itself, stopping only to let her catch up. At the sluice gate, where the lane dipped into the water, it stood still and looked back at her with an expression that was almost impatient.

She unlatched the gate. The boy woke at the splash of the cart wheels and found his grandmother's old shawl across his knees, a jar of milk warm in his hands, and a fox's shadow, long and quiet, going back up the hedge toward home.