A carnivorous plant, a liquid pouring vessel, are some of the things I can be. But one of the nine, standing in the middle, is the most cheered version of me.

I think with my limbs, taste with my skin, and write my exits in clouds of ink. What am I?

the first five are treasures of old, they can be eaten whole, dried as something new, or fermented for a drink blood or gold. the last five is a word for the first, but covers others of the same category. put them together, you have another type of this produce treat, one that tastes nothing like the first, and is sour in bursts.

I’m one word hiding two others. Remove my first half and I’m still food. Remove my second half and I become what I mostly am. I’m green where I’m guarded, red where I’m revealed, and named for what fills me, not what flavors me. What am I?

Through valleys and over mountains I roam, Guiding through deserts and forests, through shadow and sun. Poets honor me in verse and in ode; Some run toward me with purpose; others, from where I lead do they run.