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.