Fine line drawing of a fox mid-stride with a long, sweeping tail curling upwards, in black ink on a cream background.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Fox line drawing with curled tail

Fine line · Black and grey · Flash

A single black line drawing of a fox in a low, stretching pose, with its head turned to the right and its eyes closed. The tail sweeps up and over the back in loose, tapering strokes. The linework is thin and sketchy with no shading, and the design sits on a plain cream background.

Fine line Fox Tail Design

Find an artist for this

Take it to an artist as a reference. A good artist will make it yours rather than copy someone else's tattoo.

A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dear Cassius, the big kiln at Blackmere cracked again on the feast of Vulcan, and Master Oppius swears by every god in the Forum that the blame lies with the Britons' offerings and not with the clay. I have told him the clay came wet from the river and nobody should be surprised. But you will want to hear about the fox first, because the men talk of nothing else.

Keep reading

It came at first light, when the cooling trough still steamed. It sat a while by the water, looking at us as if we were the strange creatures, then lowered its forelegs to the cold stones, pushed its back end high, and swept its tail up over its spine like a banner being raised. Its head turned to one side and its eyes closed, and it stayed like that long enough for Gaius to stop mid-sentence and forget his bread. Then it yawned, shook itself and trotted into the shadow of the wall as though it had paid rent on the place.

After that the men left scraps by the trough every morning. Oppius wanted its pelt for a cloak until the centurion reminded him that a fox that will not run from a legion is a fox that belongs to someone. The fox came back each dawn all the same, always in that long stretch, always with its eyes shut as if the sun were a warm hand on its back.

On the last morning of the month I found a single bowl on the bench, thrown from the river clay and never fired, with the print of four small feet pressed into its base. I have set it aside for you. When you come home I will fire it myself, and you can see whether the shape of that tail survives the heat.

Your brother, Lucius