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.