Of flying horses, I'm the beginning Of city in Canada, I am the end When camping outside, I'm used for pinning tents to the ground, as is the trend

First four: stink, mire in piles. Three more: period, longest of whiles. Captives encaged; Proud ruins, defiled

Maybe a tree part Maybe a long nose Maybe storage for cars Maybe used to move clothes What am I?

Though I am formed deep within the terra, I somehow capture an iridescent glimmer. Only once I reach the light of sun, can you see that opaque shimmer.

I am used to secure, but I am not a lock. You can find me on your letters.