Curved crescent cloaked in yellow, sweet companion of monkeys, and slips beneath feet like a sneaky fellow.

Ever burning, ever dying. Those around me whirling, flying. Fusing that which burns to float, covered in a windy moat. Oft exaggerated flares. Little to my light compares. No father, mother do I have. My light a seaman's scalding salve.

I'm not a mouse, and i have a long snout. some of us die soon after our food runs out

Sugar in chains coiled up like skeins, That’s what little me is made of.

I dwell where fire once kissed the stone, in silent cliffs and caverns grown. I’m born in time, through pressure deep, yet in my gleam, no light shall sleep. Kings have craved my glassy might; dark as night. Sharp as light. What am I?