In the heart of the rainforest, under a tall fig tree, a newborn baby monkey named Miko clung tightly to his mother’s fur. The day had been warm, the air heavy with the scent of ripe fruit. But as the sun began to set, Miko started to whimper. His tiny body squirmed, and his face twisted in discomfort.
Mama Monkey looked down, worried. Miko never cried like this. She gently rocked him, grooming his soft fur, hoping it would soothe him. But the cries grew louder. His little hands clutched his belly, and Mama realized something was wrong.
Earlier that afternoon, Miko had been curious and tasted a piece of fallen fruit on the ground. It was sweet but overripe, and tiny insects had already begun to nibble at it. Mama hadn’t noticed, but now she understood—his little stomach was upset.
She carried him high into the trees, away from predators, and nestled in the safest branch. Gently, she kept him close to her warmth, her heartbeat steady and comforting. She groomed his belly with her gentle fingers, massaging it softly.
Hours passed, and the forest turned quiet under the moonlight. Slowly, Miko’s cries faded into soft sighs. His tiny body relaxed as his discomfort eased. Mama gave him warm milk, knowing it would be easier for his tummy to digest.
By dawn, Miko was back to his playful self, gripping his mother’s tail and chattering softly. Mama smiled, relieved. She had learned to watch more carefully, and Miko had learned that not every fruit in the forest was safe.
In the peaceful morning light, they leapt through the trees together, the troubles of the night already drifting away like mist in the jungle.
