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.