Solid black frog silhouette design on a plain white background, with raised limbs and rounded toe pads.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Frog silhouette tattoo design

Black and grey · Flash

A solid black silhouette of a frog in a climbing pose, with its limbs spread and its toes ending in rounded pads. The figure has no internal linework or shading, and its edges are crisp. It is in black only on a plain white background, with the single figure placed near the centre.

Frog Silhouette

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The king had ordered the moat drained for the third time that spring, and I was the one who had to fish the bottom for his lost signet ring, so I was already in a foul mood when the frog climbed out of the mud and up my apron strap. It did not hop. It climbed, fingers and toes splayed like a man scrambling up a wet wall, and it settled on my shoulder as if it had booked the room.

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I took it to the kitchens in a copper pan, meaning to feed it to the scullery cat. The frog watched me with its pale eyes and said nothing, which I thought was rude for a creature that had just been rescued from the drains. Cook was the sort of woman who believed every grievance could be settled with onions, so she sent me off to the pantry for dried thyme, and when I came back the frog had climbed the rim of the pan and was sitting on the spoon rack, its toe pads pressed flat to the wood.

That night the king came down to the kitchens in his nightshirt, which he never did, and asked whether anyone had seen a frog that could count. He had lost the ring, he said, to a riddle he had lost to his own sister, and the frog had been the only witness. I said nothing about the spoon rack. The frog, I think, was waiting for me to ask it something sensible.

I never did find out what it knew. In the morning the moat was full again, the ring was not in it, and the frog had gone up the cold chimney to wherever the good frogs go. Some nights, when the pans hang still, I hear the small wet sound of a creature finding its grip, and I leave the scullery window open a crack, just in case it wants to come back and be asked.