The rain had been falling since before dawn, thick and relentless, turning the forest into a shivering world of gray shadows and dripping leaves. Every branch was soaked, every path washed away. The air was heavy with cold, and the sound of rain never stopped—not for a single breath.
High in the canopy, a mother monkey named Lina sat hunched on a broad branch, her body curved tightly around her baby.
The baby was very small.
Too small to understand why the sky was crying so hard. Too young to know why warmth had disappeared from the world. Its thin fur was plastered to its fragile body, soaked through by the rain. The little one trembled nonstop, tiny teeth chattering softly as it pressed its face against Lina’s chest.
Lina felt the shaking immediately.
She pulled her baby closer, wrapping both arms tightly around the small body. Her tail curled firmly around the branch to keep them steady as the wind rocked the tree. Rain slid down her back in icy streams, soaking her fur until it felt heavy and cold against her skin.
Her own body was freezing.
But Lina did not pull away.
She leaned forward, lowering her head so her chin rested gently on the baby’s head. She groomed the wet fur with slow, careful strokes of her mouth, trying to dry it, trying to bring comfort. Each movement cost her strength, but she continued anyway.
The baby whimpered softly.
Its hands clutched Lina’s fur desperately, fingers weak and unsteady. Every loud crack of thunder made the baby flinch and cry out, its small body jerking with fear. Lina answered each sound with gentle murmurs, steady and calm, even though fear pressed tightly in her own chest.
The rain grew heavier.
Wind tore through the treetops, making branches sway dangerously. Water poured off the leaves in sheets, soaking Lina’s arms, her legs, her face. Her fur offered little protection now. The cold crept deep into her muscles, making them ache and stiffen.
Her body shook.
She shifted carefully, positioning herself so her back faced the wind, letting the rain strike her instead of the baby. She arched her spine and lowered her shoulders, forming a living shelter. Her arms trembled with effort, but she refused to loosen her hold.
The baby’s breathing was shallow.
Lina noticed immediately.
She pressed the baby tighter against her chest, sharing what little warmth she had left. She counted each breath, each small movement, watching for any sign of danger. The baby’s eyes fluttered, heavy with exhaustion and cold.
“No,” Lina seemed to say with her touch.
“Stay awake.”
She groomed the baby’s face again, licking rain from its closed eyes, rubbing warmth into its tiny ears. The baby stirred slightly and made a weak sound, curling closer.
Hours seemed to pass.
The storm showed no mercy. Thunder rolled endlessly. Lightning flashed, briefly lighting the soaked forest in white before plunging it back into darkness. Lina’s arms felt numb now. Her legs burned from holding position for so long.
Still, she stayed.
At one point, her vision blurred, and she leaned her head against the tree trunk behind her, fighting dizziness. The cold was stealing her strength slowly, silently. She could feel it in her fingers, her tail, her jaw.
But when the baby whimpered again, Lina lifted her head immediately.
She adjusted her grip, pulling the baby higher onto her chest. She pressed her cheek against the baby’s wet fur, breathing warm air onto it. Her heart pounded, loud and steady, a rhythm the baby seemed to cling to.
The baby’s shaking slowly eased.
Not gone—but less violent.
Lina felt a small surge of relief.
She knew she could not last forever like this. She needed help. She lifted her head and gave a soft call into the rain—low, strained, but clear. Again and again, she called, even as rain filled her mouth and throat.
At first, there was no answer.
Then, faintly, a response.
Shapes moved through the trees nearby. Members of the troop appeared one by one, soaked and cautious. They paused when they saw Lina and her baby, their posture tense with concern.
An older female moved closer, climbing carefully onto the branch. She reached out and gently touched Lina’s shoulder, then the baby’s back. Her touch was warm, reassuring.
Another monkey settled nearby, blocking some of the wind with his body. Others gathered around, forming a loose barrier against the storm. They groomed Lina’s soaked fur, removing debris, stimulating warmth. One brought a broad leaf and positioned it above the baby, adding extra shelter.
Lina’s body sagged slightly as support arrived.
She did not let go of her baby.
The rain continued, but its force slowly softened. Thunder rolled farther away. The forest began to breathe again, cautiously, quietly.
As the sky lightened, the baby stirred.
Its eyes opened just a little. Its fingers loosened their painful grip. It made a small, tired sound and pressed its face deeper into Lina’s chest.
Alive.
Warm enough.
Still fighting.
Lina closed her eyes for a moment, letting relief wash through her aching body. Her fur was heavy. Her muscles burned. But her baby was still there, breathing steadily against her heart.
When the rain finally slowed to a whisper, pale light filtered through the leaves. The storm had passed.
Lina stayed exactly where she was.
She groomed her baby gently, again and again, until the shaking stopped completely. Around them, the troop remained close, quiet and protective.
The forest was soaked and wounded—but alive.
And in Lina’s arms, held against her freezing body through the worst of the storm, her baby had survived.
Because when the rain tried to steal the warmth from the world, a mother gave everything she had to keep it alive.
