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.