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.