Small black and grey fine line tattoo of a galloping horse with a flowing mane and tail on the inner forearm.

Galloping horse tattoo on a forearm

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A small galloping horse is drawn in thin black linework with light grey shading along the body, mane and tail. The horse is shown in profile, mid-stride, with its tail streaming behind and its head raised, set against bare skin on the forearm. The background is out of focus and includes a checkered floor and a card sign.

Fine line Forearm Horse Mane Tail Animal

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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

You are three miles past the last petrol station when the grey mare breaks out of the scrub at a flat gallop, mane streaming like a torn flag, and matches the old pickup stride for stride. The road runs straight across the salt flat, so there is nothing to stop her and nothing to stop you. You lift your foot off the accelerator to see what she will do. She does not slow. Her head stays high and her tail trails behind her like smoke while the sun climbs over the ridge and turns everything the colour of weak tea.

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Your uncle said the mare once belonged to a man called Pruitt, who lost his ranch to the bank in a year of bad rain. Pruitt opened the gate and she never came back through it. Drivers on the highway claim they see her at dusk, running alongside tankers and buses, always heading north, always in profile, as if she is waiting to be drawn.

The road bends at the dry lake where a cattle grid sits half-buried in sand. The mare doesn't bend with it. She lifts off the tarmac in one long reaching stride and clears the grid with her forelegs folded neat beneath her. For a second you see her shadow printed on the pale ground below. Then she is a grey smudge on the horizon, and the mane is the last thing you lose.

You pull onto the shoulder and wait for the dust to settle. The radio has gone to static. On the passenger seat lies the map your uncle drew, with an X at the ranch and one word underlined twice: north. You fold it, put the car back in gear and follow the white line, because somebody has to see where she ends up.