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.