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.