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.