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.