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.