Black and white photo of a shaded realistic wolf head tattoo on the upper back of a person with hair held up.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Wolf head tattoo on upper back

Realism · Back · Black and grey · Photo

The photograph shows a person seen from behind with both hands in their hair, so the face is not visible. A small wolf head sits on the upper back near the neck and shoulder, drawn with fine shading that gives the fur depth and texture. The image is black and white, and the soft background keeps attention on the tattoo.

Realism Back Wolf Animal Wolf head Hair

Find an artist for this

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

Right, sit still and mind that lamp, because the wolf is at the door again, same as it was the winter Hannah Doyle wore her blue dress to the Miners' Hall. Nobody had a fiddle that night except old Tobias Varley, and he played like a man bailing a boat. Every time the tune slowed, the grey shape came up the snow-path and sat down on the step, big as a hearthrug, looking in through the glass with its eyes full of lamplight.

Keep reading

Tobias knew what it wanted. A wolf hears a room that has gone quiet and starts thinking of the hills, so he kept the reel going, faster and faster, until his bow smoked and his fingers bled onto the strings. The wolf sat patient. The floorboards thumped. Hannah spun under the rafters with the whole valley watching, and the lamps swung on their hooks like they were keeping time.

Near midnight the wolf rose, shook the snow from its ruff, and walked in through the open door as if it had been asked. The room went silent. Tobias lowered his fiddle and looked at the beast for a long while. "Go on, then," he said. "I'm done." The wolf crossed the boards, sniffed his hand, and turned back toward the cold.

Tobias followed it out. In the morning they found two sets of prints going up into the hills and only one set coming back down, and the fiddle lying on the step with its strings still warm to the touch, or so the old men swear.