Black ink sketch of a winged dragon in a rearing pose with claws raised, drawn on cream paper, shown as a design for a tattoo.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Winged dragon ink sketch

Black and grey · Flash

A loose ink sketch of a winged dragon shown in profile, with a horned head, clawed forelegs and a long curled tail. The linework combines firm outlines with light overlapping strokes and hatching that suggest scales, wing membranes and musculature. The drawing is in black ink only, sits on cream paper and fills most of the frame on a slight diagonal.

Dragon Wing Claw Tail Sketch

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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 dragon came down Tanner Street on the third wet morning of the fair. Nobody on the stalls moved to shut their awnings. It was only a dragon, and it was only walking, and the rain had fallen so long that a thing with wings seemed to belong to the weather. Old Mother Haskett, who sold eels from a barrow by the fountain, said it had the look of a horse that had been told it was not to be ridden.

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It stopped at the cheese stall and sniffed a Wensleydale wheel, then the spit of a pig turning under sacking. Its wings were torn at the edges like wet paper, and the membranes let the grey light through in long strokes. Tom Ferrier, who mended harness and had no patience for anything, threw it a fish head and told it to take its custom elsewhere. The dragon looked at him with one eye, the way a woman looks at a bill she has already paid.

It had come for the bell. In the spring the fair committee had taken the silver bell from the chapel tower, sold it to a tinker for a shilling, and told the town it had cracked. The dragon's tail went round the lost-property crate and lifted the lid. Inside, under a glove and a broken pipe, the bell lay with its tongue wrapped in sacking, quiet as a stone.

Mother Haskett rang it herself with the handle of a ladle, and the sound went out over the roofs. For the length of one note the rain stopped. In that gap the dragon rose, its tail trailing a line of ink-dark water, and by the time the drops came down again nobody at the fair would agree on which way it had gone.