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.