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.