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.