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.