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.