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.