In the middle of the rainy jungle, the ground had turned soft and slippery. A tiny baby monkey named Nimo, curious and playful, wandered just a bit too far from his mother while she foraged for food.
He chased a fluttering butterfly, laughing with baby giggles—until the ground gave way beneath him.
Plop.
Nimo had slipped into a small muddy soil hole, barely wide enough for his body. The thick, wet earth quickly clung to his fur. His face and little arms were covered in mud, and he could barely move.
At first, he thought it was a game. But then he realized—he couldn’t climb out.
He began to cry, loudly and desperately. His small voice echoed through the trees as tears mixed with the mud on his cheeks.
Nearby, his mother heard the cries. Her heart stopped.
She raced through the brush, calling his name, scanning every root and leaf. Finally, she found him—muddy, scared, stuck. His arms stretched toward her, shivering and crying.
Without wasting a second, she climbed into the hole. With strong arms and soothing sounds, she lifted him out. He clung to her tightly, his whole body shaking.
The mother didn’t care about the mud. She licked his face clean, kissed his muddy ears, and held him as close as possible.
