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.