Small black fine line tattoo of a crescent moon with a face on the upper arm of a woman seen from behind, with a long braid and a black sleeveless top.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Small crescent moon with a face on upper arm

Fine line · Upper arm · Black and grey · Photo

A woman is photographed from behind, showing a small black tattoo of a crescent moon with simple facial features on her upper arm. The linework appears thin and clean, with no shading or colour. The tattoo sits near the shoulder against a black top, while her blonde hair falls in a long side braid and the background is a bright interior.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The ewe had been down since midnight, and Nell's torch was already yellowing at the edges when she finally got her hand inside and felt the second lamb's feet. Frost had furred the gate latch. Behind her the barn doors stood open on the dark field, and somewhere past the ash trees a dog barked twice and gave up.

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Her uncle had always said the moon nailed above the lambing shed was for luck, though it was really just a tin crescent his father had hammered up in 1971, two of its nails bent sideways. Someone had punched a face into it with a nail set, eyes half shut, mouth a little amused. Nobody on the farm agreed on who had done it. Nell thought it looked like it had heard a joke it had no intention of repeating.

The lamb came out slick and silent, and she had to swing it by the back legs and rub its ribs with straw until it sneezed. The ewe grumbled, then turned to lick it clean. Nell sat back on her heels in the straw, her breath clouding, and watched the new lamb stagger toward its mother's flank and find the teat on the third try.

When she looked up, the moon had slid clear of the clouds and laid a thin white edge along the roof ridge. Her uncle would be up at five with the flask. She would tell him the twin was fine, and he would say he knew, and neither of them would mention the face.

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