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.