High in the trees by the riverbank, a mother monkey pauses on a wide branch, her baby clinging tightly to her belly. She glances down at the river below — wide, brown, and gentle under the afternoon sun. On the other side, fresh fruit and safe trees wait for her troop.
Without a second thought, she climbs down the trunk, baby still tucked close. She steps into the cool water, moving with careful, strong strokes. But the baby monkey, so tiny and new to the world, doesn’t understand what’s happening. His soft paws dig deeper into her fur, wide eyes blinking at the splashes all around.
At first, he squeaks softly — a small, uncertain sound. But as the water rises around him, cool and unfamiliar, his squeaks turn to tiny, panicked cries. Each kick from his mother sends gentle waves over his back. He tries to lift his head, searching for dry ground that isn’t there.
The mother, focused on reaching the other side, doesn’t notice her baby’s fear at first. She dives a little deeper to fight the current, and the baby gasps when the water touches his face. His tiny fingers slip, just for a moment — enough to make his heart race faster than ever.
Halfway across, the mother feels him wriggle wildly, his cries muffled by the sound of the river. She pauses, treading water while pulling him closer, her arms wrapping tight around his tiny body. She lifts his head above the water, pressing him against her chest where he feels warm and safe again.
Slowly, they reach the far bank. The mother climbs up, dripping and calm. The baby clings tighter than ever, breathless but safe — learning, in his tiny way, that even a big river feels smaller when your mother holds you close.
