Black and grey stegosaurus tattoo on the upper arm, drawn with fine hatched linework and stippled shading in a vintage engraving style.

Stegosaurus tattoo on the upper arm

Dotwork · Upper arm · Black and grey · Photo

A stegosaurus in side profile fills the upper arm, outlined in bold black lines with its body and back plates shaded by fine parallel hatching. Stippled dots add tone along the belly, legs and plates, giving a engraved, woodcut-like finish. The image is in black ink and grey tones only, centred on the arm against a plain skin background with a red top at the left edge.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Sit closer, the lot of you, and mind the log that spits. The road is gone under three feet of white, so you'll hear the whole of it tonight, and nobody leaves before the candle's done. My grandmother's grandmother kept this inn when the valley still had wolves in it, and she swore the beast came down off the scree the winter the church bell cracked.

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It was no wolf, nor bear. It walked on four legs like a cart with its wheels bent under, and along its back stood a row of bony plates, grey as slate, each one ribbed with lines like the grain in an ash board. Bess Harrow, who fetched the water, said the plates were shingles and it was a roof walking away from its house. The men laughed at her until the thing stopped at the ford and drank, slow, the way an old man drinks his ale when he means to finish it.

Frost gathered on the plates wherever its breath touched them, and by morning every one of them glittered. The creature stayed three days, eating nothing but the holly by the mill wall. On the fourth, the snow stopped. It lifted its head, looked at the inn as if counting the windows, and went back up the scree with its tail swinging a little to the left, as though it had forgotten something.

Bess went up after it in the thaw and found only its prints, each one as wide as a cartwheel, filling slowly with meltwater. She cut the shape of a plate into the lintel above the door, and that's the mark you've been ducking under all evening. Now. Who wants the second tale, the one about the miller's cat?

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