In the heart of the jungle, a sudden sound echoed through the trees—RriPp! It was sharp, like the tearing of something precious. Monkey Anna let out a terrified shriek. Beside her, Baby Monkey Arian clung tightly, eyes wide and filled with tears.
Their hammock, made of woven leaves and vines, had ripped apart without warning. The fall wasn’t too high, but Baby Arian had scraped his little arm. Anna, panicked and shaking, held him close, trying to calm his sobs. She softly cooed and rocked him, tears running down her own cheeks.
From the branches above, Monkey Aron had seen everything. The moment the sound rang out, he rushed down like a bolt of lightning. When he landed beside them and saw Arian hurt, something inside him snapped. His face darkened—not with fear, but with anger.
“Who did this?!” Aron growled, scanning the trees.
The other monkeys, silent and watching, stayed still. But Aron noticed a loose, freshly cut vine hanging where the hammock had once been secured. It hadn’t snapped—it had been cut.
“Someone wanted them to fall…” he muttered.
His fists clenched as he turned back to Anna and Arian. He knelt, gently brushing Arian’s fur and checking the wound. “It’s going to be okay,” he whispered, but his eyes still burned with fury.
That night, Monkey Aron didn’t sleep. He sat at the edge of the nest, alert, his mind spinning with questions and plans. Whoever hurt Anna and Arian would soon learn: Aron may be calm and kind—but he would never forgive anyone who tried to hurt his family.
And the jungle would tremble when he found out the truth.
