A grouping of trees, but not by design, a natural place, that can feel quite divine.

You may be most familiar with the larger version of me, But I can assure you, that I can also be goat-like when seen With my mounted spear and cloven hooves, I delicately pick my way through the forest, My spear highly sought to cleanse and heal Fleet of foot, I flee from those no longer innocent in a sense I am beauty, I am grace, And leave practically no trace Do you know who I am?

I bloom with beauty, soft to see, yet hide sharp guards to shelter me. A lover’s gift, both sweet and wise, what am I with thorns in disguise?

it's a quest word for me, so no alt words please. Golden soldiers stand in endless rows, whispering secrets in rustling tones. A staple of hearth and feast, ringing in fields of plenty.

Gem of the autumn, bright as a November sun, calming amber light.