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.