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.