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.