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.