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.