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.