Imagine a red dot. Now picture rings expanding outward, like frozen ripples in perfect contricity. Take aim and fire.

A term of affection for forest animals with antlers.

Around a gift I softly lie, in loops that catch the eager eye. Though tied with care and looking fine, one gentle pull, and I unwind.

In the kitchen, I'm a guiding spout, for liquid dreams that won't spill out. A cone-shaped guide for sugar's fall, directing flow, I do it all.

Stretched between two wooden towers, I make trousers dance for hours. I use wooden teeth to bite, Holding dripping secrets tight. When the sun and wind are done, I am empty, one by one. What am I?