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.