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.