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.