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.