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.