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.