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.