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.