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.