Soft shield of cotton, a nursery knight, battles messes day and night. Silent guardian, with sticky tabs clinging tight.

When your apparel is wet, I help them dry. I do not confine them, instead I let them enjoy the sky.

I can be carried on the wind As light as a thistle Or be blown to life For I am a

I’ve been shot, but I have no wound. I’ve been captured, yet I’m perfectly free. I’m a thousand words that never make a sound, A moment of you that will outlive me

I’m a pocket-sized tavern with a screw-top crown, I keep liquid secrets when bottles can’t come around. At bonfires, tailgates, or mountain peaks brisk, I warm frozen courage with a sly little twist. Metal-bellied, hip-hugging, quiet as a task, What am I?