Answer:
I march before armies, a thousand salute me. My fall can bring victory, but no one would shoot me. The wind is my lover, one-legged am I. Name me and see me at home in the sky.
I am cracked by Indiana Jones. What am I?
Voiceless it cries, wingless flutters, toothless bites, mouthless mutters.
You throw away the outside and cook the inside. Then you eat the outside and throw away the inside. What did you eat?
They have not flesh, nor feathers, nor scales, nor bone. Yet they have fingers and thumbs of their own. What are they?
What is so fragile that saying its name breaks it?