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.