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.