Fine line black arrow tattoo on the top of a foot, near the base of the toes.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Small arrow tattoo on the top of a foot

Fine line · Other · Black and grey · Photo

A small black arrow runs diagonally across the top of a foot, with the arrowhead near the base of the toes and the fletching at the lower end. The linework is thin and even, with the ink solid and dark. The image is a close view of a single foot against a plain background, with the tattoo as the clear focus.

Fine line Other Arrow Foot

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

The county wanted forty new fingerposts by the spring, and Mr Pryce handed you the tin of black enamel and the list of villages without looking up from his ledger. You started with the arrows, always the arrows before the lettering, because the lettering could be fussed over later but an arrow had to be right the first time or the whole post would point the wrong way for twenty years. Mrs Abney's boy held the ladder at Hollins Cross while you worked the thin brush down the shaft and let the head come to a clean point, then the feathers at the tail, three quick strokes each side, the way your father had taught you on the gate at Fenner's farm.

Keep reading

By June you had done thirty-nine. The fortieth was the one nobody could find on the map, a hamlet called Lesser Wending that Pryce swore had been gone since the flood of '03. The list gave it a bare line and a distance from the crossroads, and you were too stubborn to leave it off. So you walked the bottom of Coldharbour Lane with the post over your shoulder and the tin clinking in your coat pocket, and you fixed the sign where the hedge gave way to nettles, and you painted the arrow pointing up the lane toward nothing in particular.

A woman came down the lane that evening with a bicycle and a paper in her hand. She stopped beside the post, read the name aloud, and laughed in a way that was not quite a laugh. She said her grandmother had been born there. Then she looked where your arrow pointed, wet paint still shining, and she set off up the track without a word, wheeling the bicycle through the nettles as if she had been waiting a long time for someone to tell her the way.