They may be small. They may be huge. They may be fast. They may be slow. Some are still here, flying around. Yet they have been here for millions of years. What are they?

We were here before gods, and we’ll outlast men. We carve the threads, but hold no pen. No drink, no blade, yet all must bend. The wolf, the spear, we saw their end. Even Allfather seeks what we have spun. We are three, yet we are one. What are we

I guard treasures with riddles three But the answer for this is what you call me. As strong as a lion, as smart as a man. Oedipus was one who ruined my plans

Linen-bound in sacred rite, I rest where jackals guard the night. Organs jarred, my name intoned, disturb me and a curse may be sown.

I can make commandments, but I cannot speak. People use me to cure themselves also.