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.