The ancient stones of Angkor Wat stood still that morning, their moss-covered faces watching another drama unfold in the jungle’s tender heart. The forest, usually filled with the soft chatter of baby monkeys and the laughter of the troop, suddenly went silent. Something was wrong.
Luna, a gentle young mother known for her calm and kindness, was nursing her tiny baby, Lynx. The sun filtered through the leaves, painting soft golden spots across her fur. It was one of those rare, peaceful moments—a mother’s quiet joy.
But peace, in the wild, never lasts long.
Rainbow appeared from the shadows—her face tense, her body trembling with jealousy. For days, she had been watching Luna with quiet resentment. Once, Rainbow had been the troop’s darling—playful, confident, adored by everyone. But after Luna gave birth, attention had shifted. The other monkeys fawned over the tiny baby, leaving Rainbow simmering in quiet rage.
No one expected what would happen next.
Rainbow lunged without warning. Her shriek pierced the morning air. Luna screamed, clutching Lynx tightly to her chest. Leaves scattered, branches cracked, and within seconds, chaos swallowed the calm.
Luna tried to run, but Rainbow was faster. She clawed at Luna’s face and shoulders, knocking her against the tree roots. The baby’s tiny cry cut through the noise—a sound so fragile, so desperate, it made even the forest hold its breath.
“Stop!” one of the older females barked, but it was too late. Rainbow’s fury had taken over reason. She grabbed baby Lynx and darted toward the higher branches, leaving Luna behind—trembling, bleeding, and crying out for her child.
For a long moment, no one moved.
Then, the troop stirred. Mothers clutched their babies close. The alpha male barked angrily, chasing Rainbow through the canopy. She was fast, but fear had made her reckless. Finally, she dropped baby Lynx into a soft patch of grass and disappeared into the dense green.
Luna stumbled toward her baby, shaking. Her hands—trembling like leaves—reached for him. She pressed her face against his tiny body, whispering sounds only a mother could make. The pain in her eyes was more than physical—it was heartbreak made visible.
When the rain began to fall, it wasn’t just water soaking the earth. It was as if the heavens themselves were mourning with Luna.
Later, the troop gathered around her, offering small gestures of comfort. One brought food, another sat close for warmth. It was a moment of quiet forgiveness and shared grief—a reminder that even in the wild, empathy survives.
Rainbow, somewhere in the shadows, watched from a distance. Her anger had faded, replaced by regret. But in the world of monkeys, apologies are wordless, carried only through actions and time.
By sunset, Luna was resting, her baby safe beside her. The forest slowly came alive again—birds calling, leaves whispering, life returning to its rhythm. But nothing would ever quite be the same. The scars would heal, yes, but the memory of that day—of Rainbow’s fury and Luna’s scream—would echo through the troop like a lesson carved into the ancient stones of Angkor Wat.
