Black and grey dotwork tattoo of a rabbit sitting on a crescent moon, placed on the inner wrist and forearm.

Rabbit on a crescent moon on a wrist

Dotwork · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A small rabbit sits facing left inside a large crescent moon, with its back and tail resting on the curve. The rabbit and moon are built from fine stippled dots, giving soft shading on the body and a grainy, textured fill on the moon. The design is in black and grey ink on pale skin, centred on the inner wrist with plain background behind it.

Dotwork Forearm Rabbit Moon Crescent moon

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The bell at Oss Mill had gone quiet in the frost, and nobody in Harrowmere could say why. Old Tobias Wren, who kept the clock in the square, said the bell was only waiting for the moon to tell it the hour. So the miller's girl, Ada Sparrow, took a lantern up the hill on the night the moon was thinnest and sat with the bell rope in her lap until the sky turned the colour of pewter.

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A rabbit came out of the hawthorn hedge with frost on its ears. It did not speak, being a rabbit, but it looked at the bramble where the moon had snagged on the way down that autumn, and then it looked at Ada, and then it looked at the bramble again until she understood. A piece of the moon's rim had broken away and hung there like a dropped coin. The rabbit took the bright sliver in its teeth. Ada pushed the bramble back with her shoulder and the moon came free, cold and light as a bowl.

The bell rang three times across the valley, and the rabbit, which had climbed onto the curve of the moon to get a better look at the village, sat down there and folded its paws. It would not come down. Ada's father said it was a poor bargain to make with a rabbit, and Ada agreed, but she left the mill window open a crack every night after, so the bell could hear the moon and the moon could see the mill.

When the frost came back that winter, the roof of Oss Mill silvered over, and on the clearest nights the rabbit could be seen on the moon, looking back down at the hedge it had come from, as if it were still counting the hours for someone who had not yet come home.