In the soft glow of the late afternoon sun, tiny Miko scampered around his mother, full of restless energy. The forest floor was warm beneath his feet, and the faint rustling of leaves made every corner feel exciting. But as lively as he was, Miko still hadn’t learned the gentle boundaries his mother tried to teach him.
Earlier in the day, he had wandered too far from the troop, chasing a colorful butterfly that fluttered just out of reach. By the time Mama found him, he was perched nervously on a branch, unsure how to climb back down. Mama rushed toward him, her heart pounding, and carried him to safety.
Now, wanting to keep him close, she nudged him back whenever he tried to slip away again. Miko, confused by the seriousness in her eyes, tugged lightly at her arm and chattered, hoping to turn the moment playful. Instead, Mama reached out and gently pulled one of his ears—not to hurt him, but to get his attention, the way monkeys often guide their babies.
“Eeeh! Don’t pull your ears me, Mom, please!” Miko squeaked in a tiny, dramatic protest, clinging to her fur with wide, trembling eyes.
Mama sighed softly and drew him close, grooming his head to calm him. Her touch was warm, steady, and reassuring. Miko relaxed, pressing into her chest, finally understanding that she wasn’t scolding him out of anger—she was scared for him.
They sat together under the shade of a tall tree as the troop settled nearby. Mama wrapped her tail around him protectively, and Miko nestled deeper into her embrace, promising himself—at least for today—to stay close and listen.
The forest quieted, the breeze grew softer, and Miko drifted into a peaceful sleep, safe in the arms of the mother who loved him more than anything.
