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.