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.