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.