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.