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.