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.