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.