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.