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.