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.