Black and grey dotwork tattoo of two stylised rabbits surrounded by flowing lines and swirls, placed on the upper arm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Two rabbits with swirls on the upper arm

Dotwork · Upper arm · Black and grey · Photo

The tattoo shows two stylised rabbits, one upright in profile above and one crouched below, both framed by flame-like wisps and spiralling lines. The linework is fine and sketchy, with stippled dot shading across the bodies and an open, airy spread of strokes around the edges. The design is entirely in black ink and greys on pale skin, with the composition curving down the arm.

Dotwork Upper arm Rabbit Hare Swirl Flame Spiral

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dear Ailsa, the gorse burned on Creag Dubh three days running, and the wind kept turning it back on itself, so Da and the Mackinnon boys had to dig a line of peat across the north slope before the fire reached the crofts. You'll not believe what came out of the smoke. Hares, dozens of them, running ahead of the flames with their ears laid flat, and one old jack that sat on the stone wall above the burn and would not move, only watched the fire the way a minister watches a congregation falling asleep.

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Da said the hares know the island better than we do. They knew where the wet ground was. The young ones went after them, and I went after the young ones, because I was the only one daft enough to be out past the dyke at dusk with a bucket. I found a doe crouched in the lee of a rock with a litter of two behind her, and her flank was singed in a neat curl, as if someone had run a hot iron over the fur in a spiral.

I carried the bucket up to them and poured it slow so the water wouldn't spook her. She didn't move. Neither did the jack, who had come down the wall to stand at the edge of the burn as if he were keeping count.

This morning the ash has settled grey over everything, and the hill is black except for one ring of green where the peat line held. The doe and her two are still in the lee of the rock. I left them carrots and a dish of milk, which Da says is foolishness. Come home at Whitsun if you can. I want you to see the hill before the bracken comes back, when the burn still looks like a stripe of ink on paper. Your loving sister, Morag