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.