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.