I cradle giants with iron skin, yet never move, though tides begin. My arms stretch wide, a shelter true, for ships that roam the ocean blue. Though made of stone, I breathe the sea; guess what steadfast place I be?

Up in a wave, down in a snap. Run one or take it, Chosen at a tap.

Every day, you give me a command. Yet every day, you scold me for obeying. What am I?

I can bring great fortune if a rare one is found, but I cannot survive long when out of the ground. People use me to to keep livestock around.

I can be found in a deep underground place, smothered in my dark friend’s cold embrace. I’ve sparked imaginations, I’ve made people squeal, but at the end of the day, I’m still not real. What am I?