In the warm afternoon light of the troop’s feeding area, little Alba followed closely behind her mother, Anna, hoping to get a taste of the scattered fruit left on the ground. Alba was still young and curious, and every time she saw her mother lean down to grab something, she tried to reach in as well, eager to copy everything Anna did. But today, Anna was tense. Food had been scarce during the morning, and the troop’s competition for every piece made her unusually protective.
As Alba stretched her tiny hand toward a ripe scrap that Anna had just pulled in, Anna reacted quickly, snapping to warn her not to interfere. The warning, however, was sharper than usual—too sharp. Alba yelped instantly, her small voice rising in a heartbreaking, echoing cry that spread across the troop’s resting area. She stumbled backward, clutching herself instinctively, tears rolling and her whole body trembling from shock more than pain.
Anna paused, realizing the intensity of her reaction. Her ears twitched, and she turned to watch her baby cry, her posture softening as she processed what had happened. Alba’s cries grew louder, long and sorrowful, drawing the attention of nearby females who glanced over with concern. The little one clearly felt hurt—not only physically, but confused why her beloved mother had reacted so strongly.
Slowly, Anna moved closer, her body language calmer, her gestures more gentle. She reached out, pulling Alba toward her chest, grooming her carefully as a way to soothe and reassure. Alba continued sobbing for a while, her cries fading into softer whimpers as she pressed her face into her mother’s fur.
The moment was difficult, but in the end, the gentle grooming signaled that their bond, though tested, still held strong.
