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.