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.