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.