Fine line tattoo of two feathers with a small red heart at their meeting point on the inner forearm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Two feathers and a heart on a forearm

Fine line · Forearm · Mixed · Photo

A tattoo of two feathers, one shaded in blue and the other mostly outlined in black, with their quills converging on a small red heart. The linework is fine and the feather barbs are detailed, with soft blue shading along the left feather. The tattoo sits on pale skin against a plain light background.

Fine line Forearm Feather Heart

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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

Mind the step, that one's loose, same as the last bit of the story. Right. The kestrel was still hanging over Harrow Wood when Tam Ashby came down the path with a cracked lantern and two grey feathers tucked in his cap, and he was not a man who went into the wood for pleasure.

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Now the wood had a heart in it, though nobody in Lower Wendle would say so out loud. Long ago a charcoal burner's widow lost her husband to the bog pool, and she tied his pair of pinions to the oak with red wool, so he could find his way home if he ever wished to walk out of the mist. Every spring the feathers grew back on that tree, dark at the tip and pale at the root, and the village learned to leave them be.

Tam found the quill-end tangled in the bramble, a single blue-black feather, and beside it the second, which had not been there at dusk. He sat down on a root, because his knees were no longer young enough for pride, and he waited. The mist came up from the bog like breath. Then something rustled above him and a voice, thin as a reed, said his name.

I will not tell you what the burner said back, because he had a temper, and you have a long walk home. But the lantern was found in the morning, lit, at the gate of the widow's cottage, with two feathers laid on the sill and a knot of red wool tied round the handle. Nobody asked Tam where he had been. He never said. He only began, that spring, to whistle the tune the widow used to hum.