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.