Pencil and blue pen drawing of a tiger above a woman's face with feathers, arrows and scrollwork, a neo-traditional tattoo design with no body placement shown.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Tiger and woman portrait tattoo design with feathers

Neo-trad · Black and grey · Flash

A pencil and blue ink sketch of a tiger's head rising above a woman's face, with a beaded necklace, a headband and facial markings. Feathers, arrows and ornamental scrollwork fill the background and frame the figure. The linework is bold and layered with light shading on the face and fur, and the drawing is in greys and blue ink with no colour applied.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The tiger had been circling the sheepfold for three nights before Maud Carrick finally took her grandfather's bow down from the beam. Nobody in Lowder Dale had seen a tiger since the old fellows were boys, and the men argued in the inn about whether it had swum the river from the eastern hills or come up the high road in a travelling menagerie's cart. Maud cared only that the lambs were going missing one by one.

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She went up the scree alone at first light, carrying three arrows fletched in grey goose feather and one tipped with the brass pins her grandfather had made. Her tracks were soft in the wet bracken. Halfway up she found the carcass of a ewe laid out under a rowan, arranged with an odd care, its throat untouched. The tiger was watching her from the ridge, its stripes black against the mist, and it did not run.

She had expected to be afraid and found she was only tired. She set down the bow. Her grandfather had told her that the feathers on an arrow were there to steer it true, and that a hunter who forgot which way the wind was blowing would always miss. She sat on a stone and waited, the way she waited for thread to settle on the loom, until the great head lowered and the animal came down the slope and lay beside her, heavy and warm as a dropped coat.

When the men came up at noon with their pitchforks, they found Maud asleep against the tiger's flank and the rowan hung with feathers. They never agreed on what had happened. Maud only said that the tiger had taken the sick ewe and left the rest, and that the lambs stopped going missing after that. The arrows stayed in the loft, unfired, and she never again let anyone call her grandfather's craft a sport.

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