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.