Pencil sketch design of a fox lying down among leaves and flowers, with a faint butterfly outline, drawn on cream paper.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Sketched fox with flowers

Botanical · Black and grey · Flash

A pencil drawing of a fox stretched out low across the page, with its head resting to the left and its bushy tail curling up to the right. Loose leaves, a large flower and a faint butterfly outline are sketched around it. The shading is soft graphite with darker strokes along the fur and under the body, and the image is entirely in greys on a cream background.

Botanical Fox Flower Leaves Butterfly Sketch

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Nell found the fox on the spoil heap the morning after the last cage came up empty. It lay with its chin on its forepaws, stretched long and low through the willowherb, as if the hill were a warm bed it had no intention of leaving. Her father had always said foxes were thieves. She didn't tell him she had been carrying the heel of yesterday's loaf in her coat pocket for a week.

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The colliery had shut in the spring, and the men who used to walk up the lane at half five now walked it at half ten with nothing to walk up for. Her mother took in mending from the Ridley girls. Nobody in the kitchen said the word redundancy; they said the notice, the way you'd speak of someone recently dead. Nell's pencil was the one thing in the house that still went anywhere, so she took it up the hill with a sheet of the Co-op ledger paper folded in her jumper.

The fox didn't run. It lifted its head, looked at her with a flat amber calm, then curled its brush of a tail up over its back like a question made of smoke and settled again. A cabbage white, pale as a torn envelope, drifted down to the flower beside it. Nell sat on the low wall and started with the belly, heavy and dark, then the ears, then the fur along the spine, lighter where the sun caught it.

When her father came up the lane at dusk he found her with the drawing on her knee. He held it at arm's length the way he used to hold his tally. "That's a good fox," he said, and after a long while, "Where does it sleep?" She pointed at the heap. He nodded slowly, and the next morning it was his hand that tore the heel of the loaf in two.