By the shore, it whispers tales from faraway lands, a treasure of sand in a beach goer's hands.

I travel faster than sound, but acoustics are not as profound. If you blink for a moment you might think i've gone, but worry not, I'll be back by dawn.

Beastly leviathan from thunderous waves, crashing and thrashing sends men to their graves. Through day into night the lurid white whale writhes and contorts to no avail. By grit and resolve the monster is slain, but what kind of rod was thrown again?

I howl without a voice and bite without teeth. I have no lungs, yet I can breathe. I have no hands, yet I can topple trees. You can feel me, but never hold me. I travel the world but have no home. What am I?

Mist rises where I am born, yet I am not the water that falls. I appear only when light is broken, but I never make a sound. I hang in the air without weight, arched above thunder and spray. You cannot touch me, yet you can stand inside me if you find the right angle by the rushing drop. What am I?