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.