Black and grey realism tattoo of a lioness face on the upper arm, with shaded fur, detailed eyes and a dark nose.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Lioness face portrait on upper arm

Realism · Upper arm · Black and grey · Photo

A realistic portrait of a lioness head, facing forward, with fine shading across the fur, eyes and muzzle. The linework is soft and the tonal range runs from deep black to light grey. The tattoo fills the centre of the frame, with a plain white t-shirt and a blurred background around the upper arm.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The lioness above the gate of Harrowden Keep had lost her nose to a musket ball, or so the parish book claimed, and she had lost her patience with the rest of us long before. I came up the spiral stair in March with a bucket of lime putty and a brush, because Mr Pargeter had decided the mortar on the gatehouse was the last thing standing between the county and a heap of rubble. The scaffold creaked under me. Below, the sheep bleated at the dry moat.

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For three weeks I worked at her face a little at a time. I picked the crumbling pointing from round her brow, packed the hollows with grey lime, and talked to her the way my grandmother talked to the range. I told her about the wages, the rain, the way Pargeter counted the bags of sand twice. She never answered, which I took as a point in her favour. Each morning the wind had worn a little more of the stone, and each evening I put some back.

On the last Friday, a boy from the village came up the lane on a bicycle with a flask of tea for me. He stood under the arch, squinted up, and asked whether the lion was a girl. I said yes. He said she looked as if she had been waiting for someone to come back. I didn't tell him I had half believed it myself.

When I climbed down that evening, the sun dropped behind the curtain wall and lit her cheek gold, and for a moment her good eye caught the light and held it. I packed my brushes and left the scaffold up. Pargeter could take it down himself.

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