The forest still echoed with Daniela’s past cries, but she was now resting in the soft arms of Grandma Nira. Her breathing had steadied, her body still weak but no longer trembling. It was a small miracle in a world that offered few.
But nearby, another commotion began. A shrill scream pierced through the jungle—a sound not of anger, but pain. Pretty, a young and kind-hearted monkey, turned her head sharply. Her eyes widened as she saw Libby, a dominant and aggressive female, dragging a baby monkey roughly by the arm.
Pretty rushed toward the scene, but it was too late—Libby had already bitten the baby and stormed off, leaving the tiny one wailing on the ground. The baby’s cries were sharp and panicked, filled with confusion and fear.
Pretty’s heart broke instantly. Without hesitation, she scooped the crying baby into her arms, cradling the little one tightly against her chest. She had no baby of her own, but her instinct to comfort was stronger than any social hierarchy.
“Hush now, sweet one,” Pretty cooed softly, nuzzling her cheek against the baby’s fur. “You’re safe with me.”
The baby whimpered and clung to Pretty’s chest, trembling in her arms. She recognized this little one—it was Mina, an abandoned infant who had recently wandered into the troop. Many monkeys had ignored Mina’s presence, and Libby had seen her as a nuisance. But Pretty saw something else: a soul desperately seeking love.
Pretty took Mina to the shade of a large fig tree and gently began grooming her. Slowly, the baby’s sobs turned to quiet hiccups. Pretty found a soft leaf and dabbed at Mina’s tear-streaked face, humming little grunts of comfort.
Nearby, Grandma Nira, still holding little Daniela, nodded approvingly. Two babies, hurt in different ways, were now safe in the care of monkeys with kind hearts. A quiet bond began to form between Nira and Pretty—an unspoken understanding that they would protect the most vulnerable, even if it meant going against stronger, crueler members of the troop.
Libby watched from afar but did nothing. She had lost interest as soon as she inflicted harm. That’s how she ruled: through fear, not love.
But Pretty didn’t care for dominance. She only cared that Mina had stopped crying, that the pain in those little eyes was slowly fading. She groomed the baby again and shared half of a fruit she’d saved. Mina’s small fingers clutched it eagerly, her appetite a sign that her spirit was returning.
As the sun dipped below the trees, the two gentle mothers—Pretty and Nira—sat together, rocking the babies in rhythm with the wind. Amidst the wild cries of the jungle, they created a small sanctuary. Not of blood, not of power—but of compassion.
And in that quiet corner of the forest, abandoned babies like Mina and Daniela found what they had nearly lost: a reason to hope.
