A woman in a white bralette and grey underwear shows a black and grey realism-style spread eagle tattoo across her lower abdomen and portrait-style tattoos on both arms.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Spread eagle wings on abdomen with arm sleeves

Realism · Upper arm · Black and grey · Photo

The photograph is cropped below the neck and above the knees, so only the torso, arms and hands are shown. A large spread eagle with wings fanned out covers the lower abdomen, drawn with shaded black and grey tones. Full sleeves of further tattoos, including portrait-style figures, cover the upper and lower arms against a plain pale grey background.

Realism Upper arm Forearm Other Eagle Wing Portrait Figure Sleeve Woman

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dear Nell, the eagle came down on the Bramley row again this morning, the great brown one with its wings wide as a barn door, and it stood on the wire fence between the Discovery and the old Blenheims as if it had been sent to inspect us. Mr Pargeter swore it was a buzzard. I told him a buzzard would never sit so still while the pickers shouted, and he went back to his ladder grumbling about the price of tar.

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It is a funny thing, a bird that size in a Kentish orchard. Grandfather used to say the eagle was the old orchard's guardian, that his father had carved one into the lintel of the cider house the year the first grafts took, and that nobody should ever cut the wood it sat on. The lintel is still there, grey now, and the wings have worn down to a shadow. Yesterday I climbed up with a rag and rubbed the dust out of the feathers, just to see them again.

The eagle did not care for my fussing. It lifted off the wire when I came close and went over the hedge with a sound like a sheet being shaken out. I was cross with it until I found, tucked in the grass beneath the wire, a windfall with a neat bite out of one side. Something had been eating well, and it had left me the best of the crop.

So I have put a Blenheim on the cider house sill tonight, polished on my apron, and I shall see whether the bird comes for it. If it does, I will tell you. If not, I shall assume it has better taste than Mr Pargeter.

Your loving sister, Ada