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.