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.