I am the dead sentinel, standing watch over the golden plains. Although I do not move, I fight my eternal enemy, the murderous black tide.

Though bound to the ground I still am free, dancing amid the blue. Though I can’t reach heights all on my own, for that, I require you.

In a land of white and cold, a rounded home stands strong against the storm.

I am not alive, but I grow. I don’t have lungs, but I need air. I have no mouth, but water kills me. What am I?

I speak with no mouth, hear with no ears and come alive with the wind what am I?