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.