I arrive with the moon, but I bring the storm. Pain is my harbinger; gore is my form. I sometimes wear wings and sometimes a cup. In fifty or sixty years my time’s up.

I travel on wings yet sit upon thrones. I’m a wanderer of continents and a ruler in name alone. Both kingdom and creature share my title. What am I?

A fowl way to tell someone to protect their head.

First, you throw away the outside and cook the inside then you eat the outside and throw away the inside

I could make butter, money, or life, Or be locked away if I cause too much strife Though the plainest form grows on a tree, There are many meanings of me