The morning in the troop began quietly, yet tension brewed around Anna and little Alba. Alba, tired and overstimulated, had been crying since dawn. Her tiny hands clung to her mother’s fur, her voice echoing through the branches in sharp, restless bursts. Anna, already stressed from the troop’s constant movement, grew increasingly overwhelmed by Alba’s nonstop tantrum.
As Alba’s wails grew louder, Anna’s patience thinned. She shifted her weight from branch to branch, trying to soothe the little one, but Alba only cried harder, twisting and squirming in frustration. Anna tightened her hold—not to harm, but to keep Alba from slipping—yet the movement startled the baby and made her cry even louder.
The troop watched from nearby branches. Some females gave soft calls, offering reassurance, but Anna was too stressed to listen. She tried to press Alba close to her chest, hoping the warmth would calm her, but Alba kept kicking and pushing, her tiny body full of upset energy. For a moment, Anna looked completely lost, caught between irritation and worry, unsure what would finally quiet her baby.
Eventually, Anna climbed down to a shaded patch of soft leaves. She sat, breathing heavily, letting Alba rest against her arm instead of holding her tightly. Slowly, Alba’s cries softened into hiccups as she felt her mother’s heartbeat slowing down. Anna began grooming her gently, her earlier frustration fading into a calmer, more patient rhythm.
Within minutes, Alba finally stopped crying. She curled into Anna’s warmth, exhausted but safe. And though the morning began in stress and struggle, it ended with the simple, fragile peace of a mother and baby learning each other again.
