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.