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.