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.