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.