In the deep green forest, where tall trees touched the sky and birds sang every morning, lived a small monkey named Lino. Everyone in the forest knew Lino was different. He was not the strongest, not the fastest, but he was very smart—smarter than any monkey had ever been.
Lino could open hard nuts using stones, remember secret paths to hidden fruit trees, and even warn other animals when danger was near. While other monkeys played all day, Lino watched, listened, and learned. His eyes were always thoughtful, as if he understood the forest better than anyone else.
But despite his intelligence, Lino’s life was full of sadness.
Lino was born weak and small. His mother loved him deeply, but she died during a terrible storm when Lino was still very young. That night, rain poured like endless tears from the sky, and the wind howled loudly. Lino clung to his mother’s fur, crying softly, but when morning came, she never woke up again.
From that day on, Lino was alone.
Other monkeys did not want to care for him. Some pushed him away from food, others ignored his cries. They thought being smart was useless in a forest where strength mattered most. Many times, Lino went to sleep hungry, hugging his thin tail around his body to stay warm.
Yet even in suffering, Lino never became cruel.
One dry season, food became very scarce. The strong monkeys fought fiercely over the last fruits. Babies cried, and mothers looked helpless. Lino watched quietly, then disappeared into the forest. Hours later, he returned, leading everyone to a hidden valley full of ripe figs and clean water—a place only he remembered from his mother’s stories.
The monkeys were saved because of Lino.
For a short time, they respected him. But respect faded quickly. When food returned, the forest forgot again. Lino went back to being the lonely monkey sitting on the highest branch, watching others laugh below.
One day, hunters entered the forest. They set traps and nets everywhere. Animals panicked and ran in fear. Lino noticed the danger first. He screamed warnings, shook branches, and threw stones to get attention. Some animals escaped thanks to him—but Lino himself was caught.
The net tightened around his small body. He cried, struggled, and screamed for help. The monkeys watched from the trees, frozen in fear. No one came.
As the hunters approached, Lino used his intelligence one last time. He gnawed at the rope with his teeth, slowly, painfully, until it snapped. He escaped—but not without injury. A deep cut bled from his leg as he limped into the forest.
Lino survived, but he was never the same. He walked slowly now. He could not climb as high as before. Still, every day, he warned others of danger, showed young monkeys how to find food, and protected babies from snakes.
He gave everything. He asked for nothing.
In the quiet evenings, Lino often sat alone, staring at the sunset. His eyes were tired, filled with wisdom and sadness. He was very smart, but his life was full of pity. The forest owed him so much, yet gave him so little.
But somewhere beyond pain and loneliness, Lino still believed in kindness. And perhaps that made him not just the smartest monkey—but the most beautiful soul in the forest. 🐒🌅
