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.