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.