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.