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.