Black and white photo of a clenched fist with a small arrow tattoo on the middle finger, with rings on the adjacent finger.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Small arrow tattoo on a finger

Fine line · Hand · Black and grey · Photo

A clenched fist is shown in a shallow-focus black and white photo, with a small arrow tattoo on the side of the middle finger. The arrow is drawn in thin, dark black linework with a solid head and fletching, and it occupies only a small area of the finger. The blurred background and soft light keep the focus on the hand, and two plain rings sit on the neighbouring finger.

Fine line Hand Arrow

Find an artist for this

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

Sit closer, the lot of you, and mind the embers, because this is a story about a single arrow and I won't have it lost in the dark. The bowyer of Thessel Ford made arrows for the whole valley, but he made only one that year with a black head of hammered iron and fletching bound in grey goose feather, and he gave it to his youngest daughter, Imbra, the day she turned eleven. Never shoot this one at a deer, he told her. Shoot it only where you mean to be heard.

Keep reading

She kept it in a tin box under her bed. For years it sat there while the rains came and the river rose and the wheat failed twice. Then the king's tax men came up the valley road with their horses lathered and their tallies heavy, and they took the mill, and then the cattle, and then the old bowyer himself, who would not stop telling them they were fools.

Imbra did not shout. She walked up the high pass in the dark, with the one arrow, to the watch fire on the ridge where the soldiers slept with their boots off. Some say she shot it into the tent pole and the whole camp woke to the sound of a single string. Others say she simply laid it on the captain's chest, point up, and walked away. I have heard both and believe the second, for the second is the quieter, and quiet is what frightens men with heavy purses.

By dawn the tax men were gone down the valley road, and the bowyer was back at his bench, sawing shafts for nobody. Imbra never fired the arrow again. She said a thing shot once had said all it needed to say, and that the rest was just wood.