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.