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.