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.