Poor baby Lynx sat all alone at the edge of the forest, his tiny body pressed tightly against the rough bark of a tall tree. His little arms wrapped around it as if the tree could give him the comfort he longed for. His big, round eyes were full of sadness, glistening under the soft light of the setting sun. The gentle breeze rustled the leaves above, but the sound didn’t calm him—it only reminded him of the rustle of his mother’s fur when she would cuddle him close.
Lynx had been searching all day, his tiny legs growing tired from wandering through the underbrush. Every step he took, he hoped to hear his mother’s familiar call, but there was only silence. He was too young to find food or protect himself, and his small stomach ached with hunger. More than anything, he missed her warm milk, the comfort of feeding while feeling her heartbeat close to his own.
Now, hugging the tree, Lynx tried to feel safe. He pressed his cheek against the trunk, closing his eyes, pretending it was his mother’s soft chest. The forest seemed so big and strange without her. Every shadow felt like a threat, every sound made his heart race.
In the distance, other monkeys played and foraged, but Lynx stayed where he was, too shy and too sad to join. He didn’t know if anyone would help him. His little body trembled—not just from hunger, but from the fear of being alone forever.
Somewhere out there, his mother might still be looking for him. Until she came back, Lynx would cling to the tree with all his tiny strength, hoping that soon, he’d feel the warmth of her embrace and the comfort of her milk again.
