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.