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.