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.