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.