Realistic colour tattoo of a howling wolf beneath a grey moon in a blue night sky, covering the upper arm.

Howling wolf and moon on upper arm

Realism · Upper arm · Colour · Photo

A brown wolf with its head tilted back and mouth open is howling up towards a large grey moon. The fur is shaded with fine, detailed strokes, and the moon has soft craters and highlights. Blue clouds and a dark mountain silhouette fill the background, and the composition wraps around the upper arm.

Realism Upper arm Wolf Moon Night sky Cloud Mountain Howling Fur

Find an artist for this

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 fiddler stops mid-bar because the moon has come through the high windows of the Corn Exchange, and nobody in the hall is dancing any more. You stand by the trestle with a cup of cider going warm in your hand and watch Dolly Pargeter take her coat off the hook with her teeth. Her brother has already slipped out through the side door. Everyone who grew up above the moor road knows what that means, and nobody says it.

Keep reading

Out in the car park the air smells of wet sheep and diesel. The moon hangs lopsided over the fells, bright enough to read by, and the sky around it is the deep blue of a gas flame. Somebody starts a howl from across the beck, long and thin, and the yard goes still. Dolly laughs low in her throat and answers it. You have heard her do that on other nights, and you have never once asked who taught her.

Back inside, the band takes up the tune again, slower, the bass dragging like it has somewhere heavy to be. Chairs are stacked along the walls and a single bulb swings over the boards. Tom Caddick sits alone on the stage steps with his big hands hanging between his knees, staring at the open door as though a lean animal might walk through it and ask him to dance.

You go out one last time to find your keys. The moon has climbed clear of the cloud, and the gatepost where Dolly stood is empty. In the frost by the gate there are tracks heading up the hill, pale and light and close together, and beside them a second set, heavier, going the same way. One pair of prints stops short where a man's boots have been pulled off and left neatly on the stone.