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.