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.