Fine line black tattoo of two arrows with feathered fletching running down the inner forearm near the wrist.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Two arrows on an inner forearm

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

Two small arrows run vertically down the inner forearm, each with a feathered tail at the top and a pointed head at the bottom. The linework is thin and even, with the feathers and arrowheads filled in with solid black ink. The tattoo is shown in black ink against plain skin, with a white top, denim and a thin silver bracelet at the wrist.

Fine line Forearm Arrow Feather

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

Maud Tarrant made arrows in Harrowdale for forty years and never sold a shaft without a feather from her own goose, Mabel, who hated her for it. When the miller's son Edwin came into the shop the week before his wedding, he asked for two arrows, straight as a plumb line, with heads honed to a point you could shave with. Custom in the dale said the newly wed must loose one arrow each from the churchyard stile, and wherever they fell, they would build their house.

Keep reading

Bess Corran stood on the stile in her good grey wool and her mother's blue ribbon, and she shot first, a high soft arc that dropped into Gallow Orchard among the windfalls. Edwin shot after her, harder, because he had been practising behind the mill for a month and wanted it known. His arrow flew over the hedge and over the beck and was lost in the peat of Sallow Moor. Nobody in the village would walk onto the moor after dark, so they built the house in the orchard, and Edwin spent that first winter going out to the bog each morning with a long pole.

He came back each time with black mud to his knees and no arrow. In spring, Bess went out herself with a basket on her arm and found his shaft standing upright in the sedge, the wood not rotted, the feathers still crisp because Maud had waxed them. It had not sunk. It had stood there all winter as if waiting to be asked.

She carried it home and laid it beside her own on the kitchen table. When Maud came to mend the thatch that summer, she found the two shafts crossed above the hearth, feathers up, heads pointing down, where the couple could see them each morning and argue over which had flown the farther.