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.