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.