Fine-lined brown ink drawing of a hare with antler-like branches and a moon behind it, surrounded by leaves, in a Neo-traditional botanical style.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Hare with leaves and antlers design

Neo-trad · Black and grey · Flash

A hare's head in profile sits in the centre, with leafy branches growing from its ears and a small crown of dotted buds across its brow. A large leaf cluster frames the lower half, and a pale circle sits behind the head like a moon. The work uses fine brown linework with soft shading on the fur and leaves, all on a cream background with no colour ink.

Neo-trad Botanical Hare Rabbit Antler Leaves Moon Branches Bud

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The fiddler had already broken two strings by the time the hall doors banged open and the wind came in carrying wet leaves. You stood by the stove with your shoes off, because Mrs Pargeter had said the boards would draw the damp out of anyone who kept moving, and you had not yet moved. Outside, the lamp over the lych gate swung. Beyond it the stubble field ran white under a moon so full it looked lacquered onto the sky.

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Nobody else seemed to notice the hare. Or rather, everybody noticed it and pretended otherwise, the way people in Holm Fen did when something old came to the edge of the light. It sat in the mouth of the lane with its ears laid back, and from each ear grew a fan of slender branches, budded at the tips, so that it looked less like an animal than a hedge that had learned to watch. Old Tobias Nunn set his pint down very carefully and said that was the Sallow Hare, and that it only came in for a dance when someone had been fool enough to ask it.

You had asked. You remembered doing it in July, a dare shouted across the cricket pitch, and you had not thought about it since. Now the fiddler lifted his bow and the hare rose onto its hind legs, crowned with a ring of dotted buds like a bride who had forgotten her veil, and walked into the hall without ducking under the lintel.

It did not dance so much as wait. Each time the tune turned, it lowered its head and looked at you with one dark eye, and each time you found your feet moving to meet it. By dawn the boards were littered with leaves, the hare was gone, and the moon still hung over the field, a pale plate with no one left to eat from it. You still find one leaf in your coat pocket each morning, and you have stopped pretending you dropped it there.