Enlarged with AI from a smaller original
Tribal dragon on upper back
Back · Black and grey · Photo
A solid black tribal dragon with a spiked crest, a long curved body and a tapering tail, drawn in bold filled shapes with sharp edges. Only black ink is used, with no grey shading. The dragon sits diagonally on the upper back against softly blurred skin and a bright background.
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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction
The dragon came up out of the bay the year the salt pans failed, and it did not come for gold, whatever the fishermen say. Old Maren Tolly swore it had a crest like a burnt hedge and a tail that doubled back on itself like a rope left to coil, and she said it looked at the lighthouse the way a man looks at a debt. Nobody listened to her. They never did when she had been drinking.
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But the dragon stayed under the headland for three weeks, and the children started leaving bread on the rocks, and the bread went missing. The young ones said it was eating the crusts. Maren said it was counting them. On the twentieth night the lamp at the point guttered out and the whole island stood on the shingle in the dark, waiting for teeth.
What rose instead was a great black shape, sharp at every edge, that settled itself on the water and simply waited. It did not roar. It turned its long head toward the harbour wall where Maren's grandson, Tam, stood with a torch he had forgotten to light. Then it lowered its neck and laid one spiked wing over the rocks, the way a dog lies down when it has decided you are not the thief.
Tam lit the torch. The dragon closed its eyes. In the morning the lamp was lit again, though nobody had climbed the tower, and the bread on the rocks had been taken by the gulls, who at least were honest about it.
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