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.