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.