Realism tattoo of a lioness and cub wrapped across a forearm, shaded in greys with warm brown tones and blue-grey shadows.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Lioness and cub on a forearm

Realism · Forearm · Mixed · Photo

A lioness rests her head on the ground while a cub leans against her neck, both rendered across the forearm in close detail. The shading is smooth and soft, with strong darks around the eyes and muzzle and gentle highlights on the fur. Warm tan and brown tones sit over black and grey shading, with cooler blue-grey tones in the shadows.

Realism Forearm Lion cub Big cat Wildlife

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dear Nell, the cub has finally stopped crying at night, so you can stop asking in your postcards whether I've gone soft. The lock-keeper at Hythe Lock says the lioness came down from the Chiltern woods in March, which is nonsense, but she is real enough. Yesterday I saw her from the cabin roof, lying on the bank with her head flat on the mud and the little one folded against her neck like a hot water bottle.

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Mr Farrow wants her shot. He came aboard on Tuesday with his rifle over one shoulder, shouting that she'd had three of his ewes. I told him she'd had nothing of mine and he could take it up with the water board. He didn't like that. He went back up the towpath muttering, and I sat on the step with the kettle until it boiled dry.

What I didn't tell him is that I've been feeding them. Not meat, I'm not daft. The baker's day-olds, and a tin of pilchards once, which she sniffed at as though I'd insulted her. Last night I left a bucket of water on the bank, and this morning the cub had climbed in up to its chest, splashing like a child at the seaside, while she watched with those amber eyes as if I were the odd one out. Then she got up slowly, shook herself, and walked off into the reeds with the cub at her heels. I thought, well, there's someone who knows what she's doing with a family.

Come up at Easter if you can, and bring the good thread for the curtains. I'll show you the place where the bank has worn smooth from all that lying down. Your loving sister, Margaret.