The golden rays of late afternoon bathed the open field in warm light, turning every blade of grass into a tiny spark. Monkey Lyly was in her element — chasing fluttering butterflies, leaping from one patch of wildflowers to another, and tumbling joyfully in the soft grass. Every so often, she’d pause to sniff the air or inspect a shiny pebble, her curious eyes wide with delight.
From the edge of the field, Mom called out, “Lyly! Time to go home!” Her voice carried a mix of warmth and firmness, but Lyly barely lifted her head. The wind was too refreshing, the ground too soft, and the world too exciting to leave behind just yet.
Instead of heading toward Mom, Lyly decided this was the perfect time to climb a small tree at the far end of the field. She swung from a low branch, hanging upside down, and let out a cheeky squeak as if to say, Five more minutes! Her little tail swayed happily, betraying her unwillingness to end the adventure.
Mom tried again, this time walking closer. “Lyly, it’s getting late. The sun will set soon.” But Lyly was already dashing toward a patch of tall grass, chasing something only she seemed to notice. Her fur glistened under the fading light, and her laughter — if monkeys could laugh — seemed to echo across the field.
Finally, after much coaxing and the promise of her favorite fruit snacks, Lyly slowed down. She took one last sweeping look at the wide, open space as if memorizing every detail. Then, with a small sigh, she hopped into Mom’s arms, still reluctant but comforted by the familiar warmth.
As they headed home, Lyly glanced back over Mom’s shoulder, watching the field shrink in the distance. The day’s play had filled her with joy, and though she was leaving now, she seemed to know she’d be back again soon.
In her little heart, Lyly had decided — the field was her kingdom, and tomorrow’s adventures were already waiting.
