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.