Traditional black and grey tattoo of a snarling wolf head with bared fangs and pale eyes on the side of a person's neck.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Snarling wolf head on the side of the neck

Traditional · Neck · Black and grey · Photo

A snarling wolf's head is tattooed on the side of the neck, with bared fangs, a wrinkled muzzle and pale, outlined eyes. The bold black linework is filled with solid black and grey shading, with fine hatched strokes forming the fur around the ears and cheeks. The design fills the neck area, with the person's ear and jaw partly visible at the top and another tattoo visible on the upper chest.

Traditional Neck Wolf Wolf head Animal Fangs Snarl

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The snow had sealed the pass by noon, and by four the only sounds at the Fallow Stag were the kettle and the scrape of Marta's broom on the flagstones. Her father had taken the lamp up to the top field before the drift came in and had not come back. She kept the fire built high and the shutters bolted, because he had always said nothing good walked the moor in a blizzard.

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Something knocked at the back door just after dark, three slow raps, then a silence so long she thought she had imagined it. When she lifted the bar she found no man in the yard, only a black wolf standing in the drifts with snow packed thick along its ruff. Its pale eyes held hers. It did not come at her. Its jaw worked as though it had words somewhere in it and had forgotten how they went, and Marta understood that it was waiting to be let in, the way her father always waited at that door when the weather had got the better of him.

She followed it up the field with the spare lantern, the snow to her knees, and found the old lamp lying on its side where it had fallen. Her father sat against the wall with his coat over his head, and the wolf lay down beside him with its great head on its paws, the teeth still bared at the wind.

They brought him down together before the light came. Marta set the kettle on again and laid the wolf's favourite bowl by the hearth, and it watched the door until dawn, lips drawn back, as if the snow itself might still come in to take what was theirs.