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.