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.