The Searcher's Light By Mina Wolf
Through the tangled woods, he roamed, Colin Farrell, far from home. A flashlight held within his hand, Its beam a guide across the land.
The moon hung low, a silver crest, Above the trees in whispered rest. Yet shadows danced, and branches creaked, As if the woods themselves had leaked.
For deep within, a secret lay, A white werewolf had fled the day. With eyes of gold and steps so light, It melted into the folds of night.
Colin's voice, a velvet call, Echoed soft through the forest sprawl. “Show yourself, my hidden friend, This game of chase must find its end.”
But the beast, in cunning grace, Watched unseen, concealed its face. Its heart beat fast with guarded care, Aware of Colin's searching stare.
Through brambles thick, he pressed ahead, Past mossy stones and leaves blood-red. Yet every step, the forest wove, A labyrinth of fear and love.
For Colin’s hunt was not for harm, His voice held no note of alarm. “Why do you run? What do you fear? I seek your truth; I hold you dear.”
And in the silence, something stirred, A fleeting glimpse, no spoken word. The werewolf paused, its gaze unsure, Drawn to his light, so calm, so pure.
But as the dawn began to break, The white wolf vanished, left no trace. Colin stood beneath the sky, With mystery still in his eye.
For in the woods, they both had learned, Some truths are hidden, some must be earned. And though the werewolf stayed unseen, Its golden eyes lit Colin's dream.










