Silent whisperer in the grass, long and lean, with scales of past. Twisting tales of Adam and Eve Find me in the grass and I might bite.

Colds that last a long time?

I hang from your roof when it's cold and wet; I look clean, but don't lick me.

Feathered friends in a grand old room, chirping tales of nature's bloom. their songs delight, in a house where wings take flight.

In the frozen north, I am a whiskered hunter with no legs, breathing air but living in the deep. On dry land, I hold the power of kings, locking up secrets in blood-red wax. Engineers trust me to stop disasters before they leak, and the navy’s most elite call me by name. What word am I?