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.