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.