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.