My ribs are carved from forest bone, my voice from equines tail. I wail when bows run through my hair, and hush when fingers fail.

What falls but never breaks, and breaks but never falls?

Not from sun, yet still I gleam, a quiet night’s reflected beam.

my golden oil can be considered a sacrifice in a volcano, cultivated by the gods of olympus. What am I?

I'm armed from head to toe but never fight I thrive on thirst beneath the burning sky I bloom where beauty has no right The desert holds me, dare to try it?