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.