Black dotwork and geometric tattoo of a wolf's head with amber eyes, framed by a triangular pattern and a night-sky panel with trees and a crescent moon, on the inner forearm.

Geometric wolf head on forearm

Geometric · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A wolf's head is shown face on, with its eyes, nose and ears built from fine geometric lines and triangles. Above it sits a dark panel containing pine trees, a crescent moon and small dots for stars, and the whole design is bordered by a dense field of dotted triangles that wraps around the forearm. The tattoo is almost entirely black and grey, with only the wolf's eyes picked out in warm brown.

Geometric Dotwork Blackwork Forearm Wolf Tree Moon Night sky Star Triangle Geometric pattern Dot

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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

The ward goes quiet around three, and that is when you start counting the things that can still go wrong. Bed nine's drip needs changing. Bay two has a man who keeps asking whether it is morning yet. You pour the tea that went cold an hour ago and carry it to the window at the end of the corridor, where the car park lamps lay orange stripes across the wet tarmac and the line of pines on the ridge is a darker black against the sky.

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Mrs Okonedo in side room four is not sleeping either. She tells you her husband used to take the dog out at this hour, up the lane behind the allotments, to watch for foxes. Then she tells you about the wolves her grandmother swore lived in the hills above her village before the farmers shot the last of them. You don't believe her, but you pull the blind up anyway so she can see the moon, a thin paring of it caught above the chimney stacks.

At half four the call bell in four goes and you hurry, expecting her heart rate to have dropped. Instead she is sitting upright with one hand flat on the sheet, watching the glass. Something pale crosses the car park, low and unhurried, and stops beneath the lamp. It has sharp ears and patient amber eyes, and it looks up at the ward as if it has been expected. Then it turns, and the dark takes it.

You write it on the observations chart under notes, because policy says everything gets written down: 04:30, patient settled, animal in car park, not concerning. Mrs Okonedo asks if you saw it. You tell her yes, and you mean it, and you go back to bed nine as the sky greys over the trees.