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.