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.