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.