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.