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.