Watercolour-style hare with a large eye in its head and loose ink splatters, tattooed along the side of a person's ribs.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Watercolour hare with an eye on the ribs

Ribs · Colour · Photo

A seated hare fills the side of the torso, its ears rising toward the top of the frame. The animal is drawn with loose, broken black linework and washes of orange, brown and purple, with a detailed eye set into its head. Scattered black dots, drips and ink marks surround the figure and fade into the skin at the edges.

Ribs Hare Rabbit Eye Ink splatter Watercolour Animal

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Iolo reached the hut at Cwm Scree just as the cloud dropped, and the hare was already there, sitting on the flat stone beside the cairn as if someone had paid it to wait. Its ears were frayed at the tips where the wind had worked them. What he noticed most was the eye, set into the side of its head, open and ringed like a compass face, and it did not blink when he shouted at it to move.

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The shepherds in the valley said the hares on the high pass were the mountain's clerks, keeping count of who crossed and who did not come back. Iolo had laughed at that in the tavern at Llanfor. Now the sack on his shoulder was soaked through, the letter for Gwen at the mill sealed inside it, and his boots had stopped feeling like his own. He sat down on the wet heather opposite the animal, because there seemed no other sensible thing to do.

He talked to it for a long while about the mill, the debts, and the gate that had been rattling on its hinges all autumn. Rain thinned to drips that hung from the cairn like spilt ink. The hare's gaze slid past him to the valley road, where a lantern was bobbing up through the murk. Iolo thought it must be Gwen's husband coming to find him, and he stood, ready to argue.

But the light was only his own lantern, which he had forgotten to snuff, reflected in a pool at the bottom of the path. When he turned back, the stone was bare. Across the path lay a line of dark dots, each one a little further apart than the last, leading down through the cloud. He followed them by feel. By dawn the dots had dried to nothing, but the letter was dry, and the mill gate stood open.