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.