Black and grey fine line tattoo of an arrow with feathers and a leaf, sketched in a loose style with geometric construction lines, on the inner forearm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Sketched arrow with feathers on a forearm

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

The tattoo shows an arrow running vertically down the forearm, with a feathered fletching at the top, a small leaf along the shaft and a pointed arrowhead at the base. Thin, sketchy outlines are combined with soft grey shading on the feathers and shaft, while faint crossing lines and an angled stroke sit around the design. The image is black and grey and framed closely on the arm against a dark background.

Fine line Geometric Forearm Arrow Feather Leaf Arrowhead Line

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Take it to an artist as a reference. A good artist will make it yours rather than copy someone else's tattoo.

A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Mind the step, it's loose, and keep off the bean rows or Mrs Oyelaran will have your ears. Right, sit down. You want the arrow story, the one about the bowman who wouldn't stop loosing at the bottom of Tallow Lane. Everybody in Hadley Green tells it wrong, so I'll give it you right.

Keep reading

He was a man called Ansel Crane, and he shot every evening from the wall of the old orchard, straight down the long lawn into the hedge where the blackbirds nested. Every arrow he loosed came back to him, the fletching bent a little from the thorns. His sister said it was pride. The vicar said it was a bargain with something under the hedge. Ansel said nothing. He only fitted the next shaft and drew.

One dusk he put his last arrow into the lawn instead of the hedge, and when he went to pull it up it had sent a root through the grass, a thin green thread, and a leaf no bigger than a thumbnail had unfurled on the shaft. He tried to snap it. He could not. So he sat beside it all night while the feathers on the fletching went soft and grey as thistledown.

By morning the shaft had sunk a hand's width into the bed, the arrowhead gone down into the dark earth like a seed in its husk. Nobody has drawn a bow on that lawn since, and nobody has climbed the orchard wall for a better view. If you go to the bottom of the garden at dusk, they say, you can still see the leaf turning towards the hedge, waiting for the blackbirds to come home.