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.