A grain from sea, now dried and white, with pepper near, I make things taste right.

I follow the rider but never wear spurs. I lengthen at sunset, vanish at noon, and in the high desert, I can outrun you soon. A cowboy trusts me, yet I never speak lose me at night, and the trail grows bleak. What am I?

I am a deep water fish, rarely seen with the same name as a boat instrument

I’m a very relaxed mollusk, that is until I get turned into chowder.

The sky paints itself in fiery hues, bidding farewell to the day with a dazzling display. Shadows stretch long, as night whispers to replace the light.