Black and grey flash design of a woman's face framed by feathers, arrows and dense ornamental linework, with the word Sagittarius in script above.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Sagittarius woman with feathers and arrows

Black and grey · Flash

A detailed drawing of a woman's face with freckles, set within a headdress of feathers, arrows and scrolling ornament. The fine hatching, dotwork and flowing curls create dense texture across the hair and background. The piece is rendered in black ink and grey tones on a distressed, aged paper backdrop, with the word Sagittarius in script at the top.

Woman Face Feather Arrow Zodiac Headdress Swirl Ornament Portrait Hair

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The archer at Hollin Edge had shot every autumn for forty years, and every autumn the arrow flew further than the last. Nobody in the village of Ferrow thought this strange until the year the miller's boy went looking for his goat and found a bowstring still humming in the bracken, though no one had been there to loose it.

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The archer was Oda Wrenlow, and she kept her bow in a cottage at the forest's edge, where the trees stood close enough to touch the thatch. Her arrows carried goose feathers bound on with waxed thread, and she told anyone who asked that the feathers were not for flight but for listening. A good arrow, she said, carries the wind's news back to the one who fired it. The villagers brought her their quarrels, and she settled them by sending a shaft over the church roof and seeing where it stuck.

The winter the river froze to the bottom, the miller's wife came to her door about her son, who had gone over the ridge with the drovers and not come back. Oda took her best arrow, notched it, and fired into the white dusk. She did not follow it. She sat by the hearth with the bow across her knees and listened. Near midnight the feathers hummed against the door, once, twice, and the latch lifted by itself.

In the morning there was snow on the threshold, a line of small footprints leading away towards the ridge, and the arrow lying on the step with its fletching turned to face the village. The boy came home at noon with a limp and a story about a fox that had shown him the way down. Oda wiped the feathers dry, returned the arrow to the quiver, and waited for the next question.