Fine line tattoo of a small round-headed character with three black dots on the inner wrist.

Simple outlined character on the inner wrist

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A small, simple character with a round head and a rounded body is outlined in black ink on the inner wrist. Three solid black dots sit on the head, with a short curved mark above them, and the body has a few interior lines suggesting legs. The thin, even linework is set against pale skin and a soft grey fabric background.

Fine line Forearm Character Figure Dot Outline

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The cook on the herring boat, Morag Tait, found the little one in the flour bin on the third night out from Wick. It sat with its knees drawn up as if it had been waiting for someone to notice. Its head was round and the size of a walnut, with three black seeds for eyes and a short curved mark above them that might have been a smile or a grievance. She did not scream. She had fed four brothers and a drunk father, and nothing aboard a boat could frighten her more than hunger.

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Nobody else would believe her, so she did not ask them to. She crumbled oatcakes onto the bench and let it sleep in the empty tin where the nutmeg had been kept. When the wind backed to the north and the engine coughed, it rattled its head like a dropped dice, and the skipper, who had sworn he would never trust a thing he could not gut, went quiet and checked the lamps twice.

Pim the mate said such creatures came aboard only when a boat was carrying someone home. Morag said nothing. In the squall off Duncansby the little one climbed the rigging on legs no longer than a thumb, and the light it carried was only its own head, glowing blue from inside. The skipper saw the channel that a man in his right mind would not take, and took it, and the water on either side of them stood up like a wall and then lay down again.

They tied up at the harbour at first light. The tin was empty except for a pale print in the flour of three dots and a crescent, and Morag did not look for the creature again. The herring sold well that season. She still keeps the tin on the shelf above the stove, and she has never once put nutmeg in it.