In northern woods I wander free, with antlers wide like a spreading tree. Long legs carry my heavy frame, wading through lakes all the same.

Like an underwater unicorn, they’re the inventors of the shish-kebab. Or just a whale with one really huge tooth

Whispers crawl through the trees, where laughter once echoed and died. The walls remember every scream, though no one inside remains to tell. I wait in the clearing, silent and still a refuge turned trap for those who wander too deep. What am I?

Where do polar bears keep all their money?

In the cradle of hills, where rivers bend, a secret nook, where whispers blend. A ways to go for these specific valleys, a much more idyllic space compared to those urban alleys. With the waters gentle and sweet, where those loping hills do meet, you will find tranquility, even grace, in this naturally occuring space.