just  off the  coast to the  baltic  sea 
   there's a freshwater pond, secluded    
 among ashen and  juniper. a cleft in the 
   limestone bedrock, sharp-cut from the  
    surrounding plains, a ninety degree   
 drop down, down,  to  the midnight-black 
                  water.                  
                                          
                          
                                  
     fairies live here.     
                                  
                          
                                          
 they  speak to  the  sloane, caress  it, 
 urge it to grow thicker,  tangled,  with 
 longer and  sharper thorns. they tell it 
 to stay just  below the grass,  so  that 
 the  animals  what  come  to  drink  the 
 water  cannot  see  it  before it  draws 
 their  blood.  closer to  the  pond, the 
 sloane  can  grow  taller, being able to 
        hide also in the juniper.         
                                          
 the  fairies will beckon  the animals to 
 push  forward, tell  them  that  they're 
 almost  at  the  water,  that  they  may 
 drink  soon. and  they will  tug  on the 
 sloane to make sure that  the thorns cut 
 deep. when  they finally find  the  path 
 down between  the  rocks, away from  the 
 bushwork  and into  the cleft, they  are 
 bleeding  from  a  thousand  wounds.  as 
 they  drink  from the  dark water, it is 
 in  turn  drinking  the  animals  blood. 
                                          
 the  circle  is  complete,  the contract 
 carried out; the animal  is abandoned to 
 find its own way back. the bushes  roots 
 drink  the nutrutious water. the fairies 
          dance in the sunbeams.