The forest was calm that morning, filled with the soft chirping of birds and the gentle hum of insects waking to a new day. Sunlight filtered through the canopy, scattering golden patches on the forest floor. A family of monkeys rested on a tall fig tree near the river. The mother monkey, Lona, sat quietly with her baby pressed to her chest. The tiny one, only a few months old, clung tightly to her fur, his bright eyes full of curiosity as he looked around at the fluttering leaves and darting butterflies.
Lona had lived many seasons in this forest. She knew every tree, every sound, and every scent. She knew which fruits were safe and which snakes hid in the tall grass. But she also knew that danger could come without warning — from the sky, from the water, or even from their own kind. That morning, as she groomed her baby’s soft fur, she felt a quiet unease deep in her chest. It was as if the wind carried a message — a warning that something was about to happen.
The baby, whom she called Nino, was restless. He wriggled in her arms, trying to climb up her shoulder to see the world around him. He wanted to explore, to touch the shiny green leaves and swing on the small branches nearby. Lona smiled but held him firmly.
“Not yet, little one,” she whispered softly, pressing her nose against his tiny head. “The forest is not always kind. You must learn before you climb alone.”
But Nino didn’t understand. His world was still full of wonder, not fear. He squeaked playfully and reached out to grab a passing butterfly, giggling when it flew away. The mother watched, her heart swelling with love but shadowed with worry.
As the day grew warmer, the other monkeys began to move through the trees in search of food. Lona joined them, keeping Nino close. They leapt from branch to branch, the forest echoing with the sounds of rustling leaves and monkey chatter. Every leap made Nino squeal with joy. To him, it was a game. To Lona, it was life — a careful dance of balance and awareness.
They stopped at a tree heavy with ripe red fruit. Lona plucked one and handed it to Nino. He took a bite, juice spilling over his tiny mouth. His eyes shone with happiness. Lona smiled, then looked down below. On the ground, she noticed a shadow moving — long and silent. Her heart skipped. A snake.
She froze. The green python slithered slowly beneath the tree, its scales blending with the forest floor. It was huge — the kind that could crush a monkey in seconds. Lona knew it was hunting. She held Nino tighter and stayed still. The others sensed danger too and went silent. For a few tense moments, the forest felt empty, only the soft hiss of the snake filling the air.
After what felt like forever, the snake slid away into the bushes. The monkeys began to move again, though more carefully this time. Lona exhaled deeply and looked at Nino, who was chewing another fruit, unaware of the danger that had passed. She stroked his back and whispered,
“You must always look before you move, my baby. The forest hides many eyes.”
Later that afternoon, they rested near the riverbank. The sun reflected off the water like a mirror, dazzling Nino. He reached for the water’s surface, fascinated by the ripples. Lona watched him closely. She remembered another baby — her first — who had slipped too close to the river years ago. The current had been strong, and by the time Lona reached the spot, her little one was gone. She still carried that pain deep inside, a scar that never healed. And now, with Nino, her fear returned tenfold.
“Nino,” she murmured, pulling him back gently, “the river looks beautiful, but it is not your friend. It can take you away before I can save you.”
He looked up at her, eyes wide and innocent, not understanding the sadness in her voice. He only wanted to play, to splash and laugh. But Lona’s grip was firm. She had learned her lesson the hardest way. The world, she knew, could change from safe to deadly in a heartbeat.
As the sun began to dip behind the trees, the troop started returning to their sleeping grounds. The forest turned orange and gold, then slowly darkened into shadow. Nino was still energetic, jumping and tugging at his mother’s tail. Lona smiled tiredly but stayed alert. She could sense when night approached — when owls began to stir and leopards started to roam.
They reached a tall tree where the troop often slept. Lona climbed to a high branch and made a small nest of leaves. She placed Nino inside and sat beside him, watching the last light fade from the horizon.
The baby was still curious. He stood up, peering down at the forest floor far below. The height didn’t scare him; it fascinated him. He wanted to climb higher, to see the stars.
“Careful, Nino,” his mother warned softly. “Never play near the edge.”
He ignored her at first, trying to balance on a thin branch. The branch shook slightly, and for a moment, Nino wobbled dangerously close to falling. Lona’s heart nearly stopped. She lunged forward, grabbing him just in time. She pulled him into her arms and held him tight, trembling.
“Do you see?” she whispered, her voice breaking. “One wrong step, and you could fall forever. You must listen to me, my love.”
Nino clung to her chest, sensing her fear. His small hands tightened around her fur, and he buried his face against her. Lona’s eyes filled with tears. She kissed his head again and again.
“I am not angry,” she said softly. “I am afraid. Afraid of losing you.”
That night, while Nino slept peacefully, Lona stayed awake. The moonlight filtered through the leaves, painting her fur in silver. She thought of her lost baby, of the snake that slithered below, of the river that had nearly stolen her joy again. And she thought of the dangers that still waited — hunger, predators, and cruel storms.
She whispered quietly into the night, as if the forest could hear her,
“Please let me keep him safe. I’ve lost too much already.”
Her heart ached with a love that was both tender and fierce — the kind that only a mother could know. She knew she couldn’t protect him forever, but she could teach him. She could warn him. That was her duty.
The next morning came with a soft drizzle. The forest smelled fresh and alive. Drops of rain sparkled on the leaves. Nino woke early, full of energy. He tugged at his mother’s arm, eager to explore again. Lona sighed and smiled. “You never tire, do you?” she said lovingly.
As they moved through the wet branches, Lona kept whispering lessons to him — small warnings carried like a lullaby.
“Always test the branch before you jump.”
“Never touch bright-colored insects; they can sting.”
“If you hear silence in the forest, it means danger is near.”
Nino listened in his own playful way — half understanding, half distracted. But her words, like seeds, would stay somewhere deep in his mind, ready to bloom when danger came.
At one point, they found a low bush full of berries. Nino reached out to grab one, but Lona quickly pulled him back. “Not that one!” she said sharply. “Those are bitter — they will make your stomach hurt.” She showed him the safe fruit nearby. “Only eat these. Learn their smell.”
Nino sniffed the good ones and looked curious, comparing them. Lona smiled with pride. He was learning, slowly.
By midday, the rain had stopped, and the forest shimmered with light. The troop moved higher into the trees, playing and grooming. Nino, growing braver, began to wander a little farther from his mother. He chased a butterfly, laughing, leaping from one branch to another. Lona watched, her heart beating fast. She wanted to let him play — but also to protect him from what he didn’t yet know.
Suddenly, a loud crack echoed through the air. A dry branch beneath Nino’s foot snapped. For a terrifying moment, his small body slipped, hanging by one arm over the empty air.
Lona screamed.
“Nino!”
Without thinking, she leapt. Her hands caught him just before he fell. She pulled him to safety, her arms trembling. She held him tightly, her heart pounding so fast it hurt.
“You see?” she gasped, tears filling her eyes. “This is why I warn you. The forest gives us life — but it can take it away in a blink.”
Nino clung to her, frightened now. His body trembled against hers. Lona stroked his back gently until his cries softened.
“My baby,” she whispered, her voice heavy with love and fear, “I will not always be beside you. One day, you’ll climb on your own, you’ll find food, you’ll face storms and fights. You must remember my words. The forest listens, but it does not forgive carelessness.”
She looked into his eyes, wanting him to understand even though he was too young. “Be brave, but be careful. Be curious, but be wise. That is how you will live.”
The day passed quietly after that. Lona stayed close, grooming Nino, feeding him, and teaching him which sounds meant safety and which meant danger. Every rustle of leaves, every shadow — she explained them all. To others, it might have seemed like simple motherly chatter. But for her, it was survival training wrapped in love.
When evening returned, the troop gathered once more to rest. The forest turned quiet except for the croaks of frogs and the distant hoot of an owl. Nino, exhausted from the day’s excitement, curled up against his mother’s chest. His tiny hands relaxed, his breathing soft and peaceful.
Lona looked down at him, brushing his fur tenderly. Her eyes glistened with emotion.
“My sweet one,” she whispered, “you are my heart. The world is big, full of beauty and danger. I will not always be here to warn you — so I leave my voice inside you. When you feel afraid, listen to it. It will guide you.”
She kissed his forehead gently. “And when you grow strong and have your own baby one day, you must do the same — teach them, warn them, love them. That is how we survive.”
The wind blew softly through the treetops, carrying her words into the night. The stars shimmered above, and the forest slept. Somewhere, far below, the river whispered its endless song. But up in the tree, mother and baby were safe — for now.
Lona closed her eyes, holding her baby close. In her dreams, she saw him grown and strong, leaping from tree to tree, wise and careful. Her heart eased with that vision.
But even in sleep, her arms never loosened. For a mother’s warning never ends — it lives in every heartbeat, in every breath of the one she loves most.
