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.