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.