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.