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.