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.