Tiny Alba looked even smaller in the early morning light, her fragile ribs lifting with every quick, panicked breath. She had always been the thinnest baby in the troop, but today she seemed especially delicate, clinging weakly to a branch while calling out in loud, trembling cries. Her voice carried across the camp, sharp and desperate, instantly drawing attention from nearby monkeys.
Anna, her mother, moved toward her in quick, frantic motions. To outsiders it looked harsh, even careless—Anna often acted with more force than affection, her instinctive reactions confusing her tiny daughter. When she grabbed Alba to pull her close, the baby shrieked even louder, not understanding that her mother was trying to keep her from slipping.
The troop paused to watch. Some females clicked softly, sensing Alba’s fear. The little one wriggled, thin arms shaking as she tried to escape the overwhelming grip. She didn’t know what Anna intended. All she felt was pressure, speed, and the uncertainty that made her cry harder.
Anna, stressed and unsure, adjusted her hold again. Her movements were rough, but not meant to harm—only a clumsy attempt to control a fragile baby she didn’t fully know how to handle. Alba’s tiny body trembled against her mother’s chest, still crying loudly, still begging in her own small voice for comfort she didn’t yet recognize.
Slowly, as minutes passed, Anna settled. Her breathing softened, and she finally curled her arm around Alba in a more stable embrace. The baby’s cries remained shaky, but quieter now, as if she sensed a small shift—a moment of calm in the confusion.
The troop continued on, but the sound of Alba’s earlier loud cries lingered in the air, a reminder of how delicate life can be for the tiniest member of the wild.
