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.