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.