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.