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.