The jungle was quiet, except for the rustling of leaves and the distant calls of birds. The sun was setting, casting a golden glow over the treetops. But deep within the forest, a small monkey named Taru was struggling.
He had been playing with his friends, swinging from branch to branch, when suddenly—snap!—the branch beneath him broke. He tumbled to the ground, landing hard on his tiny leg.
Pain shot through his body. He whimpered, trying to stand, but his leg wouldn’t hold his weight.
For a moment, fear gripped him. He was alone. The jungle could be dangerous at night—predators lurked in the shadows, waiting for weak and injured animals.
But Taru was not ready to give up.
With a deep breath, he placed his hands on the damp forest floor and began to crawl.
Each movement sent sharp pain through his body, but he clenched his teeth and kept going. His little heart pounded, but he knew he had to reach safety.
The jungle seemed endless, every step a challenge. His fur became covered in dirt, his breath heavy, but he didn’t stop. He thought of his mother, of the warmth of her arms, of the safety of his home.
Finally, after what felt like forever, he saw it—a familiar tree, his home. His mother’s worried face appeared at the entrance.
“Taru!” she cried, rushing to him.
She scooped him up, holding him close. Taru let out a relieved sigh, nuzzling into her fur. He had made it.
That night, as he lay safe in his mother’s arms, he knew—no matter how hard life in the wild could be, he would always fight to survive.
