Traditional style tattoo of a unicorn head with pink and blue flowers and green leaves on the top of a foot.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Unicorn head and flowers on a foot

Traditional · Other · Colour · Photo

A bold unicorn head in profile, with a pale horn, dark mane and pink bridle, sits on the top of a foot above a garland of blue-grey and pink flowers with green leaves. The outlines are thick and black, with solid fills and simple shading on the face and mane. The palette is limited to black, grey, pink, blue, yellow and green on a light skin tone, and the design fills the frame against a pale blue background.

Traditional Other Unicorn Horse Flower Leaves Foot

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

The stationmaster at Wendle Junction had kept the lamps trimmed for thirty years, and in all that time the night mail had never once stopped for anyone who was not on the timetable. So when a grey mare with a pale spiral horn came trotting down the cutting at twenty to midnight, Ada Penrose set down her ticket punch and went out onto the platform to see what the trouble was.

Keep reading

The mare wore a pink bridle with a brass buckle, and blue-grey flowers were tucked into the braid of her mane. She would not come near the platform. She stood by the water tower, stamping, until Ada followed her along the sleepers to the coal sidings, where a boy of about nine lay asleep under a tarpaulin with a jam jar of forget-me-nots beside his head. His father had driven the mail until the winter ice took the bridge at Carrow, and the boy had walked the line every night since, looking for a lamp that never came.

Ada knew the old tale her gran used to tell, that a horse with a horn goes only where a lost thing is waiting, and that it will carry the child home if someone opens the gate. She woke the boy gently and lifted him onto the mare's back. The creature turned her head, touched the flowers at his ear with her nose, and walked into the dark beyond the signals as steady as a clock.

At six the next morning the signalman found a garland of pink and blue blossoms laid across the rails at the bridge, still fresh with dew, and the boy asleep on the waiting-room bench under a stranger's coat. Nobody at Wendle Junction let the lamps go out on a winter night after that.