Pencil outline drawing of a tribal-style lion head with a flowing mane, shown on a sheet of paper on a purple bedspread, as a tattoo design.

Tribal lion head line drawing

Black and grey · Flash

A pencil outline drawing of a lion's head facing forward, with a stylised mane of sweeping, pointed flame-like sections and a bold tribal-patterned face. The linework is single-weight and uncoloured, with the eyes, nose and open mouth defined by simple strokes. The sheet sits slightly off-centre on a purple bedspread, and the drawing fills most of the page.

Lion Mane Tribal pattern Face

Find an artist for this

Take it to an artist as a reference. A good artist will make it yours rather than copy someone else's tattoo.

A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The big top had been sold off in pieces by the time Ada Mercer came back to Harrowgate, and the only thing left standing was the lion's cage, bolted to a flatbed behind the ruined winter quarters. Her uncle had painted the bars himself forty years ago, and the flaking gold still caught the light in the afternoons. Inside, on a straw bed gone grey with damp, lay Sultan, who had not roared since the spring frost.

Keep reading

The old keeper, Pell, had kept a sketchbook under the ticket table for as long as anyone remembered. Ada found it wedged between the cash tin and a box of loose pennies. Most of the pages were lions. Lions drawn in pencil with their manes swept back in long, sharp tongues, as if the wind were always blowing through them. The face on the last page had carved patterns across its brow, like the chevrons on a gypsy wagon, and eyes that looked straight out of the paper.

She took the book to the cage and held it up to the bars. Sultan lifted his heavy head, sniffed once, and then pushed himself upright with a groan that rattled the whole flatbed. He padded to the wire and stood there, looking at the drawing and then at her, for a long time.

The auction man came on Monday with his clipboard and his offer. Ada signed the papers, then asked for one hour more. She unlatched the cage door herself and sat on the step with the sketchbook open on her knees, while the old lion walked out past her into the cold field, mane moving like smoke, and did not look back.