Small solid black triskele of three spirals tattooed on the inner wrist of a raised hand, with a blurred green woodland background.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Triskele tattoo on the inner wrist

Geometric · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A small black triskele, three interlocking spirals radiating from a centre, sits on the inner wrist of a hand held up with the fingers curled. The lines are bold and solid with clean edges, and the design is shown in black ink only. The background is a softly blurred mass of green foliage and trunks, which keeps the focus on the tattoo.

Geometric Forearm Spiral Symbol Wrist

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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

Sit by the stove and mind those nets, the lot of you, they're not dry yet. You want the tale of the three boats out of Kellan Bay, the year the herring went deep and the fog came down like wet wool. Every one of you has heard the name of the Morag, but you've not heard why her skipper never again took a bearing from the church tower.

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There were three of them that morning, the Morag, the Eilidh and the little Brannock, tied stern to bow the way the old men did when they wanted a fleet and not a scatter. Caddy Quayle led with the lamp hung off the bow. The rule was simple: follow the wake in front, keep the one behind on your heel, and nobody gets lost. Nobody counts on the sea being polite about its rules.

The fog took them at noon. They sailed in a slow curl, out and round, and each time the Brannock's boy shouted that he'd seen the same black rock they'd passed an hour before, Caddy told him he was daft. Then the boy stopped shouting. The lines between the boats had begun to wind together, three arms turning on one centre, and the centre was a buoy painted with three bent legs, bobbing where no pot should be.

Caddy took his knife from his belt and cut the Morag loose. The other two drifted free behind her, and the fog thinned like a sheet pulled off a bed. Kellan Bay lay right where it always had. The buoy, when they hauled it aboard, bore no maker's mark, only the three legs and a small word scratched beneath them: home. Caddy set it on the mantel, and it's still there, if you've the nerve to ask to see it.