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.