Watercolour-style wolf head tattoo in blue, purple and yellow washes on the inner forearm, with soft splashes around the edges.

Watercolour wolf head on a forearm

Forearm · Colour · Photo

A wolf's head faces forward, shown from the front with pointed ears, amber eyes and a black nose. The soft, blended edges and paint-like splashes in blue, purple and pale yellow give it a watercolour look, while darker lines define the eyes, nose and ear shapes. The head sits centred on a pale forearm against a dark knit fabric on the left and a white door on the right.

Forearm Wolf Animal Wolf head Eye Watercolour

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The wolf came to the bottom of Mrs Okafor's garden the week the frost took the runner beans, and nobody agreed on where it had come from. Dad said the reservoir road. Ruth at number nine swore it had walked down off the moor. I only knew because I was the one up at six, when it stepped out of the mist beside the compost heap and looked at me with eyes the colour of marmalade held up to a window.

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I was seventeen and paid four pounds an hour to weed other people's borders, so I did what I was told and left the back gate open with a washing-up bowl of water on the flags. Mrs Okafor came out in her dressing gown and watched me do it. "Leave it be, love," she said. "It isn't after the hens. It's only keeping an eye on the place." She talked to the foxes by name, so I didn't argue.

Each morning the wolf was there, a little clearer at the edges than the day before, as if someone were working it up in thin layers on wet paper. Its grey went to slate at the ears and bruised into violet along the ruff, and where the first sun caught its shoulder there was a pale yellow bloom, as though the light had soaked straight through. By the second week I could see the hedge through its chest. I stopped weeding and just watched it drink.

On the last morning of frost the bowl was empty and the gate was swinging. In the soil by the compost were prints like blue ink dropped from a height, and they walked off down the lane until the mist folded over them. Mrs Okafor didn't come out. She didn't need to. The beans were pushing back up through the earth, green as anything, and I knew without asking that she had watched it go.