The jungle awoke gently under a soft morning light, birds chirping above and leaves rustling with the movement of the wild monkey troop. Among the treetops, most of the troop had already begun their usual activities — grooming, foraging, and playing. But near the base of a thick fig tree, the cry of a baby monkey echoed sadly through the branches.
It was little Lynx again.
Lynx, the youngest and smallest of the troop, sat curled up on a low branch, his soft belly empty, his big eyes watery. His thin arms hugged his knees as he let out broken sobs, the kind that pulled at the heart. He was hungry — not just a little hungry, but the kind of hunger that made his tiny body shake. All morning, he had been trying to get milk from his mother, Luna. But, as usual, she had pushed him away after just a short moment. Not enough to fill him. Not enough to ease his pain.
Up above, his older sister Lucie watched him from a higher branch. Lucie was only a few seasons older, still a young monkey herself, but she had a gentle heart and loved her baby brother dearly. She could hear his cries, see the way he trembled, and she couldn’t ignore him any longer.
Lucie swung down carefully, landing beside him with a soft thud. She reached out and touched his back, giving him a little comforting pat. Lynx looked up at her, sniffling, his lips quivering. He whimpered again, trying to crawl toward their mother, who was perched far away, busy with grooming and paying no attention.
Lucie gently pulled him back into her arms. She wrapped her small arms around him and held him close, rocking him gently side to side. “Shhh,” she seemed to say, though no words came — just soft gestures, patient touches, and quiet understanding. She licked his head gently the way their mother once did, trying to calm his cries, trying to replace the warmth he needed so badly.
Lynx’s sobs slowly faded, replaced by quiet whimpers as Lucie groomed him carefully. She even picked a few soft fruits and tried to offer him bites, though he was still too small to eat properly. But the thought, the love, was there. Lucie stayed with him, keeping him close, not letting him feel alone in his sadness.
Even though she couldn’t give him milk, she gave him something else — comfort, care, and a sense of safety.
As the sun climbed higher, Lynx finally closed his eyes for a nap in his sister’s arms, his tiny face still tired, but a little more peaceful. Lucie stayed beside him, gently grooming his fur, standing in for the mother who wouldn’t.
That day in the jungle, it wasn’t Luna who soothed Lynx — it was Lucie. A young sister’s love had done what a mother’s care could not: make the little one feel seen, safe, and softly loved.
