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.