Traditional style colour tattoo of a snarling wolf head with a sheep head in front, dripping red blood, on the inner forearm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Wolf and sheep head on a forearm

Traditional · Forearm · Colour · Photo

A snarling wolf's head rises behind a sheep's head, which is shown in profile with a curly woolly fleece and open jaws. Bold black outlines, yellow and tan shading and red blood drips give it a classic American traditional look. The design fills the forearm against a dark leather background.

Traditional Forearm Wolf Blood Teeth Animal head

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Every Thursday at twenty past six the coat came back to lost property at Thornbeck Junction, folded over the arm of the end bench as if its owner had only stepped out for a pie. It was heavy grey wool with a curled collar that looked sheared off something alive, and the cuffs were always stained a bright, unlovely red. Nobody ever claimed it. I hung it on the hook marked MISC and wrote the date on a card, the same way I'd done for three years of umbrellas, prams and one stuffed pike.

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Mr Abbott, the stationmaster, said it was a costume from the Morris men's supper in the Crown. The night porter said a ewe had once walked through the barrier, bold as brass, and he'd chased her onto the 18:42 with a broom. I didn't laugh at either of them. Things get left in stations that nobody should have to explain, and I'd learned to file those under never mind.

In March I stayed late to finish the stock check, and the coat was warm when I lifted it off the hook. Something rattled in the inside pocket. It was a bundle of ticket stubs, every one punched through the same neat hole, every one for a train that had left Thornbeck on a Thursday and never arrived anywhere the timetable admitted to. The last was dated that same afternoon. Under them was a card in capitals: HOLD THIS FOR THE WOLF. I looked at the hook, then at the barrier, where a man in a flat cap was walking towards the platform with his hands in his pockets and his collar turned up against nothing.

I put the coat back on its hook and wrote on the card: unclaimed. Then I went home the long way, past the paddock, and didn't look back at the lit windows of the station.