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.