The jungle canopy dripped with evening rain as little Pruno huddled in the abandoned nest, his tiny body shaking with each sob. His golden fur, usually fluffy and bright, clung to him in wet clumps. The other monkeys’ laughter and chatter from nearby trees made his loneliness cut deeper. “Mama…?” he whimpered again, though he already knew—she wouldn’t answer.
That morning, Pruno had woken to find the nest cold. At first, he thought Mama was just foraging, but as the hours passed and the sky darkened, his chest grew tight with panic. He’d tried to be brave, chewing on leaves just like she taught him, but when thunder cracked overhead, his courage shattered. Now he curled into himself, crying so hard his breaths came in hiccups. Did she leave because he’d been too loud? Too needy?
Nearby, the troop ignored his distress—all except Tata. The old, one-eyed macaque was the grumpiest monkey in the group, known for swatting babies who came too close. But when she heard Pruno’s cries, something in her hardened heart cracked.
With a sigh, she hauled herself across the branch and yanked him against her chest. “Enough noise,” she grumbled, but her hands were gentle as they smoothed his soaked fur. To Pruno’s shock, her embrace felt… safe.
Then, miracles:
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Uncle Mango tossed down a ripe fig, though he never shared
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Lila, the selfish teenager, brought a fat caterpillar “for strength”
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Even King, the stern alpha, paused to groom Pruno’s tangled tail
As the storm passed, Pruno realized—he wasn’t alone after all.
When Mama returned at dawn (a snakebite slowing her), she found Pruno sleeping peacefully in Tata’s arms, surrounded by gifts. Her relieved hoot woke him, and Pruno tumbled into her embrace—but not before nuzzling Tata’s cheek.
