Colour tattoo of an ornate giraffe head with intricate patterned linework, shading from blue at the top to orange at the base, on a forearm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Ornate giraffe head on a forearm

Forearm · Colour · Photo

A stylised giraffe head with ossicones and eyes sits at the top of a long, vertical design, with the neck extending down the forearm. The linework is dense and ornamental, filled with repeated concentric and geometric patterns. The ink fades through blue and purple at the top to red and orange at the bottom, set against a plain background of plastic wrap.

Forearm Giraffe Animal Ornamental pattern Geometric pattern Eye

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Pull your chair in, because the wasps are at the windfalls again and I'll not shout over them. You see the top rows of the Hallam orchard? Nobody picks those. The ladders go up to the second branch and stop, and the best of the Russets hang out past them, gold as a farthing. That fruit belongs to the giraffe, though she never asked for it.

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The Hallam girls called her Mrs Pym, though she came up from the coast with no name at all, only a long neck and a pair of horns like two stubby pitchforks. Her hide was worked over in rings and whorls, every line as fine as the lace on a christening shawl, as if someone had had all winter to spare on her. She walked the rows at evening, and wherever her neck went the bees followed, humming like they'd been paid to.

One August the farmer's boy, Tom Eckley, climbed onto her back to reach the high fruit. She stood very still, the way a horse does when it has decided to trust you. He filled his cap and his pockets and slid down with his shirt full of Russets, and she bent her head to look at him. Her eyes were lashed like a barmaid's and her crown was the blue of a cold morning, going down through violet to the orange of the stubble field, and Tom understood he owed her something.

He left the last Russet on the top rung of the ladder every evening after that. Each year the high apples came down clean to the grass, and the sky over the Hallam hill turned the same colour the night she first ate from his hand. Hold your cup still now. That's the end of it, and the wasps have had their share.