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.