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.