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.