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.