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.