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.