In the heart of the jungle, where tall trees danced with the morning wind and birds sang from the canopy above, the wild monkey troop stirred to life. As the golden sun filtered through the leaves, a small, fragile cry echoed across the branches — the unmistakable voice of baby Lynx.
Lynx was just a tiny monkey, smaller than the others his age, with soft fur and big, pleading eyes. Still new to the world, he clung tightly to a thin branch, his little stomach empty and growling. All he wanted was a bit of comfort — a warm hug, a soft place to rest, and more than anything, his mother’s milk. But today, like many others, his needs would be met with rejection.
Not far away sat Luna, his mother. Her eyes were fixed on the canopy as she picked at leaves and small fruits, her movements calm, her attention distant. She had heard his cries — of course, she had. But Luna had grown colder lately. Whether tired, overwhelmed, or just detached, she no longer answered Lynx’s soft begging the way she once did.
With shaky legs, Lynx made his way to her. Each step along the branch was unsteady, but he was determined. He reached her side and gently climbed into her lap, nudging her chest with his nose, searching for the familiar warmth of milk. His small fingers gripped her fur, his little face pressed close — a silent, innocent request for comfort.
But Luna turned her body, pulling away slightly. Lynx tried again, this time letting out a soft squeak, a hopeful plea. He was still too small to eat fruit like the others, still needing her nourishment to grow strong. Yet Luna reached down and pushed him gently, but firmly, away.
Lynx stumbled back, wide eyes filling with tears. A sharp, heartbreaking cry escaped him — high, loud, and painful. He didn’t understand why. Why did she no longer want to feed him? Why did she leave him empty and afraid?
Nearby monkeys glanced over, some with sympathy, others with indifference. Such moments were not uncommon in the wild, where every mother followed her own way. But to Lynx, the world was cold in that moment — cold and confusing.
Still crying, Lynx crawled back toward Luna again. He reached for her one more time, holding out his arms like a baby pleading for just a little love. But Luna stood, leapt to a nearby branch, and left him sitting alone.
The cries of the poor tiny kid echoed again, softer now, tired. Lynx sat quietly, hugging himself, his tiny body curled on the branch. His tears mixed with the morning dew, and his voice faded into sniffles.
By the end of the day, as the jungle settled under the fading light, Lynx finally drifted off to sleep — hungry, tear-stained, and waiting for a tomorrow that might bring a little more kindness from the one he needed most.
