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.