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.