In the quiet dawn of the jungle, when mist still clung to the leaves and the treetops swayed gently with the breeze, the cries of a small baby monkey pierced the calm. Little Lynx, no more than a few months old, was awake before the rest of the troop, his tiny body trembling and his mouth wide open in a desperate scream. His voice was high-pitched, echoing through the canopy — the cry of hunger and heartbreak.
His mother, Luna, sat on a nearby branch, her eyes distant, her body still. Though she heard her baby’s cries, she didn’t move. She didn’t turn her head. She stayed focused on grooming her own arms, flicking away bits of dust and insects, acting as if the scream of her only baby didn’t matter.
Lynx clung to a lower branch, reaching up with his small arms. His stomach was empty, and all he wanted was his mother’s milk — the warm comfort that usually soothed him, gave him strength, and made him feel safe. But lately, Luna had been feeding him less and less. Sometimes she let him nurse for a few seconds. Sometimes she turned away completely. And sometimes, like now, she just ignored him.
He cried louder.
The other mothers in the troop were nursing their babies in peace, gently cradling them against their bellies, grooming them while they fed. But Luna was different. She seemed impatient, distracted, and cold. Even when Lynx finally climbed up beside her, crawling over the branch with shaking limbs, she only glanced at him briefly before shifting her body so he couldn’t reach her chest.
Still, Lynx tried again. He climbed into her lap and wrapped his arms around her waist. His head bobbed toward her belly as he searched blindly, lips smacking with desperation. For a moment, she allowed him to latch on. He suckled eagerly, his tiny body relaxing just slightly — but after only a few seconds, Luna pulled him off and stood up, leaping to another tree.
Lynx was left behind on the branch, confused and still hungry. His scream returned, sharper than before, filled with frustration and longing. He scrambled to follow her, hopping unsteadily from limb to limb, never letting her out of his sight.
Throughout the day, this pattern repeated: crying, chasing, begging, and a few short chances to nurse — never enough. By the time the sun dipped low in the sky and the troop began to settle, Lynx had cried himself hoarse. His voice was softer now, but his pain was still loud in his tired eyes.
He curled up beside Luna one last time, resting his head on her leg. She didn’t push him away, but she didn’t hold him either. As stars began to dot the sky, Lynx drifted off to sleep, still empty, still waiting.
And in the hush of the jungle night, his lonely plea remained unanswered.
