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.