I’m carved in an arrow to guide a clean release, or named where mountains briefly cease.

Deep in the jungle I am there waiting for your gradual dare

I sit inland and mirror mountains. Rivers come to me; some leave, some don’t. My waves are quiet, my winters solid. A few of my kind are called Great. What am I?

Indoors, but outdoors, encased by walls. Open sky, plant life, adjacent to halls. Not a greenhouse or the front or the back yard. The prosecution rests; don't think too hard.

I used to work as a chef on the sea restaurant Baratie of East blue