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.