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.