Fine line black tattoo of three arrows and a feather on the inner forearm, beside a metal chain bracelet.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Three arrows and a feather on a wrist

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

Three arrows run diagonally down the forearm, with a feathered fletching detail on the lowest arrow and a small arrowhead on the upper one. The linework is thin and mostly uniform, with some hatched shading in the feather. The ink is dark throughout, and a metal chain bracelet sits at the top of the frame against a pale background.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

You learned to fletch in the packing shed at Hollin Farm, where the Bramleys sat stacked on straw and the wasps came in under the door. Your uncle set three shafts in the vice that August and told you a good arrow is only as honest as its feathers. He gave you a goose quill, a pot of glue, and a jar of cider to keep your hands steady.

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By the last week of the month the crows had found the orchard before the pickers did. You took the longbow from its pegs and walked the rows at dusk, counting fruit that was already gone. Near the old perry pear, a bird lifted from the grass with a sound like a torn sheet. You drew, loosed, and watched the shaft go wide into the hedge, where the bramble swallowed it.

Next morning you went looking. The grass was wet and the hedge was thick, and you found only a grey feather caught on a thorn, and beneath it a small arrowhead of blue steel, the kind your uncle said he had forged as a boy. Someone had tied a scrap of red wool round the shaft's nock. It was not yours. You turned it over and understood that the orchard had been keeping an archer's secret for longer than you had been alive.

You put the feather in your pocket, left the arrowhead where it lay, and went back to the packing shed to set a fresh shaft in the vice. Your hands were steady now, and you did not bother with the cider.

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