One sheet with organised folds creates what your intricate design holds

100 strokes for each side if you want a glorious mane. But you can’t do it yourself, so it’s me that helps keep it all tame.

Taut leather over a hollow vessel; rhythmic thumping that sets the tempo

I live inside a house of glass, a tiny wire is all I have, I wake up with a little click, and end my life with a flick. What am I?

I can be red, green, or black, Ground to a dust or served in a sack. I might bring a tear right to your eye, Though no one is hurt and nobody cried. I sit in a shaker or grow on a vine, Adding a kick to the dish where you dine.