Black and grey fine line geometric arrow tattoo running along the inner forearm, with triangular fletching and small circles and dashes along the shaft.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Geometric arrow on a forearm

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A single arrow runs diagonally along the forearm, with layered triangular fletching at the tail and a faceted triangular head at the tip. Thin, even black linework forms the shaft, with small circles, dashes and short strokes breaking up the line. The image is greyscale, with the forearm filling the frame against a pale background.

Fine line Geometric Forearm Arrow Triangle Geometric shape Dashes Circle

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The fletcher's daughter had sworn she would not cut another shaft until the river gave back her brother's boat, so for three winters the goose feathers sat in their bundles in the loft above the mill at Harrowmere, and the wood stacked beside them grew grey with dust. Folk said the Drowned Queen kept the boat under the weir and wanted a price for it, and no one in the valley could name the price, only that it had to be paid with a true arrow.

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On the fourth spring she took down her knife and cut the rowan the way her father had taught her, the shaft straight and the nock small. She cut the tail feathers into three stacked triangles so that the wind would not know which way to push it, and she cut the head from black flint into a faceted point that caught the light like a pebble under water. Between the fletching and the head she bound two small rings of tin wire, one near each end, and set a line of dashes along the shaft, one for each day she had spent waiting.

At the weir she drew to the full length of her arm and loosed. The arrow crossed the grey water without dipping and struck the reeds beneath the queen's stone, and the boat came nosing out of the mist with her brother's name still scratched on its prow. Nobody asked her for a price after that.

She hung the arrow on the nail above the door, where the morning sun fell across it. Some evenings she counted the dashes again, and the number was always the same.