They are dark and always on the run. Without the sun, there would be none. What are they?

I’m small and round with a heart of stone. On tables I gather, in groves I’m grown. Squish me to gather my liquid gold. A sign of peace from scripts of old.

In northern woods I wander free, with antlers wide like a spreading tree. Long legs carry my heavy frame, wading through lakes all the same.

Like an underwater unicorn, they’re the inventors of the shish-kebab. Or just a whale with one really huge tooth

Where do polar bears keep all their money?