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.