Black and grey tattoo of a full moon above a dark tree line, shaded in soft greys, on the forearm of a person wearing a rolled light blue sleeve.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Full moon over a forest on a forearm

Realism · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A shaded tattoo of a full moon rising above a dark row of pine tree silhouettes, set inside a rounded frame on the forearm. The moon is rendered with soft grey gradients and fine detail, while the trees are solid black with a dense, graphic edge. The photograph is taken indoors on a bed, with the rolled blue sleeve and pale sheets visible around the arm.

Realism Forearm Moon Tree Forest

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Ada Pell was sent to the wood's edge at dusk with a loaf wrapped in cloth and a jug of small beer, because her grandmother would not come down to the village when the moon was full. 'Don't look between the trunks,' her mother said, tying the knot. 'Look at the ground where you're putting your feet.'

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The path had moved again. Ada counted the pines as she passed them, twelve at the stile, fourteen at the spring, and there were more black shapes standing where the hedge had been last winter. The moon came up behind the wood the way a lamp comes up behind a window, round and grey and patient, and the trees stood in front of it so sharply that every needle looked cut from tin. The hut was gone, but its chimney stood, and a three-legged stool sat in the clearing as though someone had just got up from it.

Her grandmother was not inside. Ada found her at the foot of the tallest pine, sitting with her back against the bark and her lips moving over a tally of knots cut into a stick. 'Every full moon the wood takes one of us for the ground we stand on,' the old woman said, without looking up. 'I have been paying it with my feet for sixty years. Tonight is yours to pay, or mine, and I am tired.'

Ada set the bread on the roots and poured the beer out slowly, so the earth drank it. The moon had climbed into the top branches now, sitting there like a coin on a ledger. She walked home without looking back, counting the pines on the way, and at every stile she found one fewer than before.