I dwell where roots begin to grow, And mark where tales no longer flow. First in the forest, last on the page; What am I, in nature and in sage?

I'm still in my early stages. Fully grown? I am not. Take away my center, and I become molten hot.

Everything can create me, but nothing can see me. I can pass great distances at speed, but the further i go, the weaker i get.

When the group of fishes crowd together and where they hang at

Using just four tiny letters, I can write more about you than anyone could read in a decade.