Colour neo-traditional tattoo on the upper arm and shoulder showing a green hillside path, a long-eared dog, a red animal and green leaves with white flowers.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Landscape and animals on upper arm

Neo-trad · Upper arm · Colour · Photo

The tattoo covers the upper arm and shoulder with a scene of rolling green hills and a winding path along a rocky ridge, under a pale blue sky with soft clouds. A long-eared dog and a red animal sit within the landscape, with green leaves and white flowers curving along the lower edge. The bold dark outlines and soft painted shading give it a illustrative, storybook feel, and the palette is bright and saturated throughout.

Neo-trad Botanical Upper arm Shoulder Landscape Hill Path Sky Cloud Dog Animal Leaves Flower

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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

Sit still and mind that fire, because this is the bit where Jessop's hound finally gets up the hill. Nobody in Tarn Hollow thought a dog with ears like wet dishcloths could manage the ridge path, not with the spoil heaps sliding down on either side and the pit whistle going at six. But Bramble had walked that track every morning since her master went down the number three shaft and didn't come up again, and she wasn't about to stop for the likes of the colliery manager.

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The path ran along the rocky top above the village, where the grass stayed green in a way the coal dust never reached. Halfway along, a red squirrel sat on the wall of the old lime kiln, cracking a hazelnut and watching the dog come on. Everybody else had given up on Bramble by then. The squirrel hadn't. It dropped the shell, flicked its tail, and went ahead of her, stopping every few yards to make sure she was following, the way a lamplighter goes before the carriage.

At the top, the wind came off the moor clean enough to taste, and the sky was that pale blue you only get once the smoke has blown out to sea. Bramble sat down among the white clover and the wild garlic, and she waited. Nobody knows what she was waiting for. Some say a man's boots on the stone. Some say nothing at all, only the squirrel coming back down the path to sit beside her.

Mind, that's the story as my mother told it, and she told it wrong on purpose, so you'd climb up the hill with her on a Sunday and look for the dog yourself. Pick up that poker now. The fire's dying, and so's my patience.