Colour neo-trad tattoo of Little Red Riding Hood with large orange eyes and a wolf on the upper arm, shown in three mirrored panels.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Little Red Riding Hood and wolf on upper arm

Neo-trad · Upper arm · Colour · Photo

A large colour tattoo of a pale-faced girl with big orange eyes and a red hood, standing beside a brown wolf with bared teeth. The figure has bold dark outlines and smooth shading, with the red hood and dark green hair as the strongest colours. Three mirrored views of the same piece are arranged side by side, showing the tattoo wrapping across the upper arm.

Neo-trad Upper arm Wolf Hood Girl

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

It rained all through the Tuesday market, the thin grey sort that finds its way under tarpaulins and softens the cardboard boxes. I had my trestle at the far end by the fish van, selling odd gloves and tins of buttons, and I'd been watching the girl in the red hood for most of an hour before she came to my table. Her hood dripped onto her shoulders. Her eyes were the colour of marmalade, and she didn't look at the gloves at all. She looked past me at the wolf.

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He was sitting on an upturned crate by the flower stall, brown collar turned up, a string bag of leeks at his feet. Everyone on that row knew Arthur Fenwick, who had sold secondhand bicycle parts for thirty years and had never once been seen to hurry. 'Your grandmother's bread will be stale by now,' the girl said. 'Grandmother's been gone since March, Lily,' he said, not unkindly. 'I was only passing.'

She sat down beside him on the wet crate. They shared a paper cone of chips and didn't speak, and I counted the pears in my tin of nothing and wondered whether I ought to tell someone, then decided it was none of my business. When the rain thinned to drizzle she stood, shook out her hood, and held out a pear. He took it with both hands, like a man receiving a christening gift.

'Go home by the road,' she said. 'Not through the woods.' He nodded and watched her go, a red smear between the stalls, until the fish van's shutter came down and the market was just puddles and gulls. The next Tuesday I found a pear on my trestle with a neat bite out of one side and a note tucked underneath in careful capitals: YOU OWE ME A WALK HOME.