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.