Small black and grey tattoo of two footprints on the inner forearm near the wrist, in a fine line style.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Two small footprints on the wrist

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A small tattoo of two footprints sits on the inner wrist or forearm. The feet are outlined and filled in dark grey-black ink, with a simple, minimal design and no surrounding elements. The photo is taken close up against plain skin, with the tattoo placed near the centre of the frame.

Fine line Forearm Footprint Feet

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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

The tracks come out of the scrub just past the cattle grid, two small prints pressed hard into the red grit at the verge, toes sharp as if whoever made them had been running. You stop the van and sit with the engine ticking. Nobody walks this road in June. The nearest water is forty miles back, and the nearest house, the Pattersons' place, has been empty since the spring.

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You follow them on foot. The prints keep to the crown of the road, straight as a plumb line, then swing off where a dry wash cuts under the fence. Here the sand is softer and the feet have sunk deeper, and you can see where they stopped, turned round, and started again. Someone was counting steps. A cardigan hangs on a mesquite bush with its sleeve pinned under a stone, and beside it, the same two shapes are pressed into a patch of silt, as if the walker had stood there a long while deciding.

You find her under the overhang at the far end of the wash, a girl of about nine with a water bottle clutched to her chest and her sandals lined up neatly on a flat rock. She looks at you the way the desert looks at anyone: patient and unimpressed. "I was going to walk to the lights," she says. "Mum said they were only a few miles." You hand her your flask, tell her the lights are a long way off, and offer her the passenger seat instead.

She climbs in, and you drive back past the fence with the window down. In the side mirror the wash shrinks to a dark line, and the two small tracks that had led her there are already filling with wind-blown sand, shallow and then gone.