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.