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.