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.