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.