Two crossed forearms show fine line black arrow tattoos on the inner forearm, with three arrows on one arm and smaller arrows on the other.

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Matching arrow tattoos on crossed forearms

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

Two forearms cross over each other against a plain grey background, each carrying thin black arrow designs. The upper arm shows three arrows angled diagonally with detailed fletching and pointed heads, while the lower arm has smaller arrows near the wrist and a single arrow between the two arms. The linework is delicate and even, with no shading and only black ink.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Nobody on Skerra Vael could agree on when the wind had turned, only that the boats stopped going out in the spring and the arrows started coming in. Old Tamsin Rorick, who made bows for gulls and for grown men, said the damp had got into the glue. So she bound three shafts in oilcloth and sent her grandson Aled across the sound to Ness Harbour with them, and told him not to open the cloth.

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He did not open it. The widow at the net loft did, and turned them over one at a time. Each had its fletching cut from grey goose wing and its head filed sharp. 'These are the Rorick marks,' she said, and then, more quietly, 'Eoin used to make them the same way.' Her husband had gone under off the Carrick reef three winters before, and nobody on the island had said his name since. She took a single arrow from her own quiver, fletched in brown hen feather, and gave it to Aled to carry back.

Halfway across, the swell lifted the boat and he saw the island's old signal fire on the headland, three dark posts against the sky, the same number of shafts his grandmother had bound. He understood then that the arrows had never been meant for the mainland alone. They were a question sent from one shore and an answer sent back, and the widow's arrow lay across his knees with its head turned toward home.

He drove it into the cairn at the top of the slipway, between the stones where the islanders leave their wrapped bows for the next crossing. The wind came up off the sound that evening and turned, quietly, the way Tamsin had said it would.

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