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.