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.