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.