I bend but never bow. I strike without a fist. I mark the spot where blows are taught. Yet feel them twice when missed. What am I?

Tickle my bones, and I'll begin singing, With each tap a tone, Each rib will be ringing

I come straight as an arrow, but I'm then twisted with care I'm metallic and thin as a strand of fine hair. I bind without glue, without punches, without tape My uses lie mostly within my bent shape.

For millenia people, tried to make me complete and bigger. Of every sailor and traveler I am a trusty helper. Those who had me faulty often ended badly.

wrapping my makers in coccoons in dark, dark places, beware woven into pretty scarves that all the maidens wear