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.