Black and grey tattoo of a young deer beneath a bow, with two small birds, leaves and daisies, on the outer thigh.

Young deer, bow and daisies on a thigh

Thigh · Black and grey · Photo

A young deer stands in a wreath of leaves and daisies, with a large bow and two small birds above it. The linework is clean and outlined, with soft grey shading across the deer's body and the background. The design is black and grey only, centred on the thigh with the rest of the leg and a dark garment at the top edge of the frame.

Thigh Deer Fawn Bow Bird Leaves Daisy Flower Wreath

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Sit closer, love, and mind the flour on the step. Dawn's still two hours off, and the ovens don't care what the clock says. This is the story my gran told me, standing right where you're sitting, with her hands in the dough.

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There was a fawn who came down out of Harrowden Wood the winter the frost stayed in the ditches until noon. She was thin as a dropped stick, and she followed the smell of bread the way you'd follow a hymn. Old Mr Pardoe, who baked for the whole valley, found her nosing the bin at the back door. He didn't shoo her. He tore the heel off a loaf, set it on the cobbles, and said to the empty yard, 'Well, you'd better come in out of the cold, then.'

Two wrens lived in the eaves above the flour sacks. They watched the fawn take crusts from the step each morning and did not like it one bit. So they took the blue ribbon from the baker's daughter's hair while she slept, and they tied it in a bow at the fawn's neck. Then they flew off chattering about how clever they'd been. The daisies came after, pushed in by the fawn's own nose and wreathed round the bow with ivy from the wall. Nobody could say who did what, and Mr Pardoe said it didn't matter.

When the first grey light came over the ridge, the fawn stood at the door with the ribbon still on. The baker's daughter, awake now, watched her go and didn't call her back. Half a year later, so the story goes, a fawn with a ribbon was seen under the thorn tree at the edge of the wood, and the wrens were singing in the branches above it, as if they'd kept the best secret in the valley and were too proud to tell it.