I come in many forms, though my purpose is the same. Some let you escape, some will end the game. Live ones grant mercy, another day spared. Quick-kill ones are kinder, when death is declared. Glue should be avoided, a measure of last resort, and a prowling house cat is nature’s own sort.

I am most often seen first thing in the morning, but you can get me anytime on the mountain.

I drift where clouds and birds might play, a skyborne craft that floats all day. Not a plane, nor quite a blimp, my shadow moves without a limp.

In the heart of the forest, a shadowy figure roams, night’s silent whisper, with eyes like burning coals. The moon’s ally, a pack's fearless leader, howling stories of the wild.

I marked the end of roaming. Working me is tough, hopefully no groaning. Lo, my existence birthed writing! For my land and bounty, there was much fighting. I need care from early hours till light's daily respite. Can you guess it?