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.