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.