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.