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.