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.