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.