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.