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.