Fine line black tattoo on the inner forearm showing a polo rider on horseback with mallet, above the script word Lauren, with Ralph in script above the rider.

Polo rider and script names on the wrist

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

The tattoo shows an outline of a horse and rider holding a polo mallet, with the script words Ralph above and Lauren below. The linework is thin and single-toned, with no shading, and the ink appears dark blue-black against the skin. The design is centred on the forearm near the wrist, photographed from above with a plastic sheet and tiled floor in the background.

Fine line Lettering Forearm Horse Script Name Outline

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The mallet slipped from Dougal's hand in the third chukka and skittered across the baked turf like a dropped spoon. He was off his grey before the umpire blew, running after it with his sleeves flapping, and nobody in the stands at Cressbury Park looked at the ball at all. They were looking at the pony.

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Nell Ashby had walked the little bay in from the back paddock that morning with a bucket of windfall apples in one hand and a letter in her apron pocket. She had not meant to read it. The envelope was addressed in looping copperplate to a Miss Hetty Crane, care of the stables, and the postmark said Harrogate, and the ink had run where a thumb had pressed it too long. Hetty had been gone three weeks. Nobody had told the pony.

The letter was short. It asked Hetty to meet the writer at the rail after the last chukka and to bring nothing but the bridle with the brass buckle, because the rest could be explained with a cup of tea. Nell read it twice, folded it along its old creases, and put it back. Then she fed the bay his apples one at a time and told him the truth, which was that nobody in Cressbury had the faintest idea where Hetty had gone.

When Dougal came back, breathless, mallet in his fist and grass on his knees, the bay was standing at the rail with his nose pointed squarely at the gate. Nell was waiting there with the brass-buckled bridle over her arm. "Someone's coming to collect a horse," she said, "and I think it's you."