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.