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.