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.