While i was going to the Ardennes, i saw a man and seven women. Every woman was carrying seven bags. In every bag there were seven cats, and every cat had seven kittens. How many were going to the Ardennes?

I’m where boats take a break, and ropes get tied in place. I’m not a door, but you’ll hear pull in when you see my wooden face. What am I?

Steel veins stretching across vast lands, guiding iron beasts to distant towns, where whistles echo in the morning mist.

I can be Dutch or French, among others. Wheel or wedge, or grated for all that matters. I can have mold but don't throw me away. Not all mold is bad per se.

Grow in caves from the ceiling, Slow I am made by water dripping.