Black and grey tattoo of mountain peaks above a pine forest in a shield-shaped panel on the upper arm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Mountain and pine forest on upper arm

Upper arm · Black and grey · Photo

The tattoo shows a row of jagged mountain peaks above a dense stand of pine trees, enclosed in a shield-shaped outline. The forest is built from dark silhouetted trunks and branches, with soft grey shading fading into a lighter sky behind the peaks. The design is entirely in black and grey ink and is framed centrally on the outer upper arm against a teal background.

Upper arm Mountain Pine tree Forest Landscape Sky Peak

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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

Mind the puddle by the fishmonger's, and take the crate nearest the awning, it's the only dry one left. Now. The carter came down off the high road with a load of salt cod and a dog that would not stop barking at the mountains. You can see them from here when the rain lifts, a row of grey teeth above the chimney pots, and Tobiah Greave swore those teeth had eaten three men before him who tried to cross to the far side.

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He did not go near them. He drove his cart to the last farm where the track gave up, and there stood a wall of pines so close together that the light went green, then brown, then nothing at all. An old woman sat on a stool outside a hut with its shutters painted blue. She did not look up from her knitting. She said the way through was marked by bells, and that a man who heard one and walked toward it would come out in the morning with his hair gone white at the temples. She pressed a pine cone into his palm, cold and sticky with resin, and told him to keep it dry.

He went in anyway, because he was a carter and the cod was already spoiling. He heard the bell for a long time before he found the clearing, a place where mist rose off the trunks like smoke off a banked fire and the sky above was the colour of pewter, lighter at the top where the peaks stood. The bell belonged to a grey goat with a broken horn, standing among the stumps as though it had been waiting for him. Tobiah sat down on a root and found, to his surprise, that he was not afraid. He counted the trees instead. He got to four hundred and one before he lost his place.

When he came out the other side, the old woman was gone and the blue shutters were closed. The cod had sold for nothing, and nobody believed him about the goat. But the pine cone is still on my stall, and if you look closely you will see a tiny name scratched into every scale, four hundred and one names, and the last of them is yours.