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.