Forearms with gold and silver metallic temporary tattoos of a peacock feather, a peacock eye, a leaf sprig and a lattice band, with blonde hair falling across them.

Gold and silver metallic designs on forearms

Botanical · Forearm · Colour · Photo

Two forearms are shown with metallic gold and silver designs that appear to be temporary tattoos. The motifs include a peacock feather with an eye, a sprig of leaves, a lattice band across the wrist and a small silver knot, with a gold butterfly partly visible near the shoulder. The designs are flat metallic ink with fine outlines and no shading, set against warm skin tones and loose blonde hair.

Botanical Forearm Peacock feather Peacock eye Leaves Lattice Knot Butterfly

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The nets came up empty for nine mornings, and the boats of Harrow Quay sat tied to their posts while the gulls quarrelled over nothing.

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On the tenth day a tinker came along the harbour wall with a tray of feathers strapped to his back. He had no boat and no wife, and his coat was the colour of wet slate. Old Marrin Cole, who mended nets for the whole fleet, bought one feather for a penny and asked what it was for. The tinker said a peacock's tail held a hundred watching eyes, and a net left out at dusk would be watched all night by something that did not sleep.

Marrin pinned the feather to the cross-beam of her shed and tied every net she had to it with a silver knot, the kind her grandmother used, which she said would not slip under any weight. She worked the lattice of the big drift net tighter than ever, each mesh the size of a child's palm, and she stitched a gold moth into the corner of the sail so the fish would think there was a lamp out on the water. Her hands ached. She did not sleep either.

On the eleventh morning the fleet went out in the grey light with the feather's eye turned toward the sea. By noon the nets were heavy enough to strain the masts, and the men came back singing, herring spilling silver over the gunwales. Marrin counted the boats in from the quay, one by one. When the last hull bumped the steps she looked at the feather still pinned in her shed window, its eye open and bright, and she said nothing about it to anyone, because a fisherman will thank the sea long before he thanks a tinker.

When the tinker came back the next spring, Marrin gave him a jar of salted fish and asked him nothing at all.