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.