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.