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.