My first three are a friendly pet, a favorite of witches when their fur is jet. My last six are upstanding sorts, of wood or stone they make sublime supports. The whole of me is a hungry chap, who often dreams of having wings to flap.

Once a mighty king among celestial kin, now a shadow in the dwarf's attire. Spins a tale of icy heart, with a name shared by a mythical underworld's sire.

In the forest where whispers bind, a bond unseen, yet so defined. As vines entwine, hearts align, this force remains through space and time.

Dances around me, never touching. Infrequent visits, such big leaps. Over fifty years since our last, yet I see you before I dream.

Alone, I’m rather harmless, but remember faces well With two, we have attempted murder, though harm never befell