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.