The golden rays of morning light streamed through the canopy, painting the jungle in soft hues. Mama Monkey stretched her arms and turned toward her sleeping daughter—but the nest was empty.
“Lyly?” she called gently, expecting the little monkey to pop up from behind a branch with a giggle.
Silence.
Her heart skipped. “Lyly, where are you?!”
Panic surged. Mama Monkey swung down the tree, calling louder this time, “Lyly!” Her voice echoed through the forest, startling birds and squirrels alike. She searched the branches where Lyly loved to play, but there was no trace.
She dashed past the riverbank, where Lyly often watched tadpoles, and through the banana grove, their favorite picnic spot. Still nothing.
Tears welled up in Mama’s eyes. “She wouldn’t go far,” she whispered, trying to stay calm. “She’s just playing hide and seek… right?”
At that moment, a rustle came from a low bush. Mama froze. “Lyly?”
Out popped a small, muddy face with wide, innocent eyes.
“Mama!” Lyly squeaked, grinning.
Mama Monkey gasped and hugged her tight. “Where have you been?! I was so worried!”
Lyly looked down. “I woke up early and followed the butterflies. I thought I’d come back before you noticed, but then I got lost.”
Mama sighed, brushing dirt from her fur. “Next time, wake me first, okay? The forest is big and full of danger.”
Lyly nodded solemnly. “I’m sorry, Mama.”
Mama smiled and kissed her forehead. “I’m just glad you’re safe.”
Hand in hand, they returned to their tree, the morning sun still shining, but the forest now calm again.
From that day on, Lyly never wandered off without telling her mother—and butterflies remained her favorite, but only when watched together.
