In the forest of threads, I do rest, A shield 'gainst the chill at your chest. Though sleeveless I be, I'm snug company, For woodland walks, I'm surely best.

I am born from fire yet favor the cold, I drink no blood, yet stories I hold. I whisper in palms and argue with night, Too small for a war, too honest for spite. I serve in the dark where silence is law. Say my name once, and you’ll feel what you saw.

I’m not alive, but I can die. And, always, when you need me the most.

Throw away the outside and cook the inside, then eat the outside and throw away the inside.

I starve at banquets I did not cook, grow fat on victories I never earned. I measure myself only with other lives, and the closer I stand to joy, the further it moves away. What am I?