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.