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.