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.