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.