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.