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.