Small solid black tribal-style butterfly tattoo with swirled wings and two dots, on the wrist of a light-skinned arm.

Small black tribal butterfly on a wrist

Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A small butterfly tattoo made from bold, solid black ink with curling tribal-style wings and a pair of dots beneath the body. The linework is smooth and tapers to sharp points, and the design sits centrally on a fair-skinned wrist against a blurred green background. The image is a close, straight-on photograph with even lighting.

Forearm Butterfly Tribal Wing Dot

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Snow had sealed the pass for three days, and Maud Carrick had run out of patience before she ran out of candles. She stood on the bottom stair of the Fell Hare with a tin of lamp oil in one hand and listened to the wind worry at the shutters. Upstairs, the traveller who had arrived on Tuesday's coach was either sleeping or pretending to, and nobody had asked his name.

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The iron butterfly had hung above the register since autumn, a scrap the blacksmith's boy had cut for a bet. Its wings curled like the ends of a fiddle scroll, sharp at the tips, and two dots sat beneath its body like a full stop nobody had bothered to finish a sentence with. Her grandmother had said it brought weather in. Maud had called that nonsense, and then the weather had come in.

When the traveller came down at dusk, he ignored the fire and the stew. He looked at the register, laid one finger on the iron, and said the snow would lift by morning if she let him keep the room. She asked how he knew. He said the moths had told him. She laughed until she saw he wasn't joking, and then she noticed that the dots on the iron had shifted to the other side of the body since she had last dusted it.

At first light the pass was clear and the coach horses were stamping in the yard. Maud went to the register. The butterfly hung where it always had, wings open, but the room key was gone from its hook, and on the wood beneath it someone had scratched two small marks facing the door, as if something had flown out in a hurry.