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.