Baby Luno pressed his tiny body close to his mother, hoping for the warmth and comfort he always found there. The morning forest was quiet, except for his soft, desperate whimpers. He reached out again, trying to grab hold of his mother’s belly, searching for the familiar milk he depended on. But once again, his small hands missed their mark, and his mother shifted away gently, leaving him confused and struggling.
Luno didn’t understand what was happening. Every day until now, one touch, one nuzzle, and milk would come. It was the anchor of his little world. But today, and the day before, and even the day before that, he had tried again and again—only to feel his mother move, encouraging him to stand, climb, and feed on the tender leaves around them instead.
His tiny heart felt heavy. He tugged at her arm, letting out soft, shaky cries as if to ask, “Why no milk feeding for me, Mommy?” But his mother, Luna, only stroked his back gently with her long fingers. She wasn’t angry. She wasn’t ignoring him. She was guiding him—slowly, carefully—into the next stage of his life.
Still, Luno felt the ache of confusion. He tried again, pressing his face against her belly. Again, she nudged him away, not harshly but firmly. His legs trembled as he sat down, tears gathering in his eyes. It felt like a million pitiful cries were trapped in his tiny chest.
But then, Luna wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close. She groomed his fur, calming his shaking body. Her message was clear in her touch: You are growing. I am here. You can do this.
Luno didn’t understand everything yet—but he felt her love, steady and strong, guiding him forward, one tiny step at a time.
