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.