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.