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.