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.