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.