Black and grey realism tattoo of an owl perched on a thorny branch, placed on the inner forearm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Owl perched on a branch on a forearm

Realism · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A large owl with feathered chest and wide, staring eyes sits on a thin, thorny branch. The shading is soft and detailed, with fine hatching across the feathers and darker tones around the eyes and branch. The design is in black and grey ink and is centred on the inner forearm against a crinkled plastic background.

Realism Forearm Owl Branch Bird Feather

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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

Sit down, the lot of you, and stop craning at the buffet. Forty-one years since we left Ashby Road Primary and nobody has the nerve to say what became of the owl in Miss Pryce's wood. Well, I'll say it, because I was the one holding the torch.

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That summer the owl had come down from the church tower and taken a perch on the blackthorn bough by the allotments, the thin one with the thorns like bent pins. Tom Hendry swore he could knock it off with a stick. Gareth Lloyd said he'd climb up and take it home in his coat. We went out after dark, eleven of us, and the owl sat there with its great round face turned towards us, eyes like two wet pennies, and it did not blink once. Not once, mind you. I counted.

Gareth reached for the branch and the thorns caught his sleeve, and he yelped and pulled, and his cuff tore. The owl only turned its head a little further, the way Miss Pryce used to turn hers when you'd forgotten your spellings. Nobody moved after that. We stood in the nettles until Gareth unhooked himself, one thorn at a time, and the owl never shifted a feather.

In the morning the branch was still there, and the owl was still on it, every feather drawn in fine little lines like pencil hatching, as if somebody had taken great care over it. Miss Pryce came down the path with her flask and looked up for a long while. Leave it be, she said. It's keeping watch. So if you're wondering why I still won't go near that blackthorn behind the churchyard, now you know. Somebody has to keep an eye on the wood, and I'm fairly sure it isn't going to be any of you.