Answer:
Looks like water, but it's heat. Sits on sand, lays on concrete. A play on the eyes, but it's all lies.
Searing 'cross the pitch-black skies, I scream in celebration, Yet moments later, my outburst through, I am naught but imagination.
Put into a pit, locked beneath a grate, guarded through the night, yet it still goes out.
A house of wood in a hidden place. Built without nails or glue. High above the earthen ground. It holds pale gems of blue.
There are 30 cows and 28 chickens. How many didn't?
I break away from my pack. I create holes in my victims. I can travel for miles and then disappear. I am part of a dying breed. What am I?