In the quiet morning light of the forest, the troop moved slowly along the branches, their soft calls echoing through the cool air. Among them was Mara, a young mother-to-be whose belly had grown heavy in recent weeks. The troop sensed her time was near and stayed close, offering warmth and protection. Mara had always been gentle, often grooming the youngest members of the family with patient, loving hands. Everyone expected her to become a caring mother.
As the sun rose, Mara settled under a broad tree, breathing deeply as instinct guided her. Hours passed, and eventually the tiny newborn arrived—silent, still, and without the first cry of life. Mara, confused and hopeful, nudged the infant softly. She lifted the tiny body with trembling arms, attempting to warm it against her chest. Her eyes searched the face of her baby for movement, for breath, for any sign that the little one simply needed time.
But the forest remained quiet. The newborn remained still.
Mara’s confusion slowly turned into distress. She groomed the baby gently, the way she had seen other mothers do. She tried to tuck the infant close, as if the comfort of a mother’s embrace might call life back into her little one. The troop gathered around her silently, acknowledging the heavy sadness that hung in the air. Older females reached toward Mara, offering soft reassurance, but she could not let go.
She carried the stillborn infant for hours, even as the day faded. Each step she took was filled with longing—a mother’s heart refusing to accept what nature had taken away too soon.
In the fading light of the forest, Mara’s quiet grief became a tender reminder of the depth of love even wild creatures hold.
