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.