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.