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.