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.