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.