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.