Pieces scattered, all around, like stars upon the ground. Gather each to build anew, a creation known to few.

I carry color where I glide, across a waiting field of white. Soft hairs lead the artist’s hand, what am I at their command?

I have eyes, but cannot see. I need to reach the character minimum

In a twist of green, I bring peace to the table, yet my branch speaks of harmony. A tiny orb in the lands of sun, I flavor both peace and feast.

Whether of cloth or of space, I am what holds things together.