You walk into a room where creatures are quietly writing riddles. You decide that you want to do one and sit down.
( Note: Make sure you send me the answers to your riddles.)
9 pebbles for sending in a riddle. 7 for answering one.
E-mail Quickpaw
1. When the big winged fellow comes
    Oh, see how the villians run.
    To the left or to the right,
    Oh, how she ran for her life.
    Do you know who took flight?
By Belladour

2. Her voice was as sweet as a bird that sings,
    Her weapon was wood that no,
    Vermin would want to meet.
    Who is she?
By Belladour

3. Who was a companion so bold a true,
    Who can make your life merry all the way through,
    Small he might be, so some may say,
    A warrior at heart and a friend all the way.
    Can you guess who he might be?
By Belladour, MP

4. My name starts with the fourth of fear
   My second is the second of long
   My third is the first of song not pong
   My fourth is the fourth of calender.
By Glacia

5.  I am always running,
    Yet I have no legs
    I am always sunning
    Yet I never tan
    I am always singing
    Yet I have no voice
    Who am I
By: Rona Oakpaw MP
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6. Soft and silent
    I fall to the ground
    I spread my colors
    All around
    I am red
    I am gold
    I lay a deep bed
    On the forest floor
    Who am I
By: Rona Oakpaw MP

7. What has no teeth and yet bites?
    What has no voice and yet cries?
    What has no life and yet it does?
By: Rona Oakpaw Mp

8. The first letter of my name is in car but not far...
   The second letter is in cold but not field...

( there are four letters between the above and below stanza's)

   The second letter is in red but not bed....
   The eighth letter is in real but not steal...
   Who am I?
By Comadore

9. On an icy cold stone,
    sat the child all alone,
    The sun was up, then the sun was gone.
    Still the child sat all alone.
    Gliding finger's search for warmth,
    hoping for some softness.
    But all that was felt was coldness.
    The heart screamed for some words of encouragement,
    But ice pelt it's own exsistance.
    The fingers glided over the child's face,
    But all it could feel was hardness.
    The sun came as the fingers turned away,
    The sun blared hot on the child all alone,
    Sitting on the cold icy stone.
By Belladour, MP