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.