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.