Black ink drawing of a white fox and a black fox curled into a circle, with a moon and stars, drawn on an open sketchbook page.

White and black fox yin yang ink sketch

Black and grey · Flash

Two foxes, one white and one black, are drawn facing each other in a circular, yin and yang style composition. The white fox has a round moon near its tail and the black fox carries a crescent moon and small stars along its body, with leaves and wispy fur curling around the top. The fine ink linework uses dense hatching and solid black areas, and the image is entirely black and white on a cream sketchbook page.

Fox Moon Star Leaves Yin yang Sketch

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The white fox had carried the moon in its tail since the spring the hedgerows went quiet, and it had never once let the thing touch the ground. Each dusk it came round the hill at a steady trot, and each dusk the black fox was already coming the other way, the stars along its flanks sliding like sparks off a smithy anvil. Neither could leave the ring. The hill had been a circle long before either of them, and the path round it had worn so deep that a fox who turned aside found only brambles.

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Farmer Pryce's dog had long since given up barking at them. The hens on the lower field knew the schedule better than the church clock did, and they fluffed up and settled whenever the pair came round, as if it were only weather. For a whole year the white fox kept its eyes on the grass ahead and the black fox kept its eyes on the moon, and neither looked long enough at the other to wonder why it was always there.

Then one evening in April the hawthorn at the crown of the hill put out its first leaves, pale and curling, and the white fox, tired of running its own circle, stopped where the paths met. The black fox stopped too, close enough that their breath mixed in the cold air. The moon slipped from the white tail, rolled down the slope, and came to rest against the black fox's crescent, the two shapes fitting together like a dropped lid.

Neither of them moved for a long time. Above them the hawthorn kept opening, leaf after leaf, until the whole crown was full of green, and the hens, for once, did not stir. When the foxes finally went down the hill they went side by side, and the path, which had been a ring all their lives, was simply a path.