The newborn baby monkey cried into the empty air, his voice thin but urgent, calling for a mother who did not answer. His eyes squeezed shut as fear rolled through his tiny body, and his hands searched blindly for warmth. Every sound around him felt too loud, too strange, too cold.
He was hungry, and hunger sharpened the fear. His stomach tightened, pulling his small frame inward as he cried again, louder this time. Each call sounded like a question and a plea together. Where was she? Why was he alone? He did not know words, only need.
The world offered no familiar heartbeat, no fur to cling to. He shook, breath hitching between cries, and curled into himself as if that might make his mother appear. Minutes felt endless to a newborn heart that could not wait.
Gentle hands finally came, slow and careful, lifting him from the hard space. He startled, then cried harder, unsure if this help could be trusted. Warm cloth wrapped around him, and the shaking eased just a little. The hands stayed. They did not leave.
Warm milk followed, its smell soft and comforting. When the nipple touched his lips, instinct woke inside him. He latched on, drinking desperately, tiny jaw working with determination. The crying stopped, replaced by steady swallows and quiet breaths.
As his hunger faded, fear loosened its grip. His eyes opened, round and wet, watching the face above him. He did not understand rescue, only that the pain was easing.
When the bottle emptied, he sighed, a small sound of relief. Held close, he rested against a steady chest, listening to a calm rhythm. He still missed his mother. But in this moment, he was safe, warm, and no longer alone. Hope arrived promising tomorrow, patience, care, healing, and love.
