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.