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.