Neo-traditional flash design of a pale blue fictional character with red hair, surrounded by roses, vines, a skull and a banner reading I Sense There's Something in the Wind, shown without a body

Sally with roses, skull and banner design

Neo-trad · Colour · Flash

A coloured illustration of a pale blue character with long red hair and stitched details, holding a dark rose, set within an oval frame of pink roses, green vines and sparkling stars. A skull sits at the base above a scroll banner carrying the words I Sense There's Something in the Wind. Bold outlines, smooth blended shading and rich teal, pink and green tones make it a finished design ready for tattooing.

Neo-trad Character Rose Skull Vine Banner Script Star Oval frame

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The sailmaker's daughter in Scarrow Haven was made of patched canvas and a sack of wool. Her mother had stitched her eyes a little crooked, so she always seemed to be looking at something just past your shoulder. Nobody thought much of her until the spring the herring boats failed to come home from the grounds beyond the lighthouse, and the wives gathered on the quay with their shawls pulled tight and asked her what the weather meant to do.

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She lifted her head and sniffed at the air like a cat at a cupboard. "I sense there's something in the wind," she said, and the wives hushed, because the wind had turned cold off the north-east and carried a smell of tar and iron. Old Hob Tennant, whose brother was out in the Mary Jane, laughed at her and said a rag doll could not read the sea. She did not argue. She unpinned the black rose from her breast, walked down the slick steps to the water's edge, and laid it on the swell.

The tide, which had been running out for three days, stopped. Then it turned over, the way a sleeper turns, and for an hour the harbour heaved as if something underneath were pushing up. When the wind swung round to the south the boats came in one by one, low in the water and singing, with the Mary Jane last of all. Hob stood on the quay and wept into his cap, and nobody mentioned that he had been wrong.

The rag-girl never got her rose back. Every spring after, the sailmaker's wife sewed a new red thread into the seam of her skirt, and the fishermen touched their caps to her before they cast off, in case she was listening to the wind and had a word for them. On quiet mornings, they said, you could still smell the rose on the water, and the wind, when it came, always seemed to be asking after someone.