The forest was waking up slowly, its branches stretching toward the sun as morning light filtered through the leaves. Birds called softly, insects buzzed, and somewhere near the base of an ancient fig tree, a troop of monkeys was beginning another lively, noisy day. Among them lived Rika, a young but fiercely devoted mother, and her tiny newborn baby, Nanu.
Nanu was only a few days old—pink-faced, fragile, with fingers so small they looked like threads. He clung to Rika with desperation, his entire world held safely in her gentle yet unshakable grip. But while Rika was young, she was known throughout the troop for one thing:
She had a temper.
A powerful one.
Protective instincts flowed through her like fire, and nothing—absolutely nothing—could come close to her baby without her approval.
Or without facing her rage.
That morning, the troop gathered near the fig tree to feed. Fruits had fallen everywhere, and monkeys of all ages jumped around in excitement—except Rika. She sat near a thick trunk, cradling Nanu. Her tail curled tightly around him, her eyes scanning every movement like a warrior queen guarding her only treasure.
The first monkey to test her patience was Kimo, a mischievous young male who loved teasing babies just to stir trouble. He saw Rika sitting slightly away from the group. A smirk spread across his face. He sauntered over, curious about the tiny newcomer.
Nanu squeaked softly, stretching his tiny arms. Kimo leaned forward, extending one finger toward the newborn.
He didn’t even come close.
Rika lunged so fast the air cracked with the sound of her movement. She grabbed Kimo’s wrist with shocking force and let out a deep, guttural warning call that echoed through the trees.
“Don’t touch my child, or I’ll tear your finger off. I’m not joking.”
Her eyes were wild, her teeth bared. Kimo froze.
He had expected a playful swat—not the fury of a mother whose blood boiled with instinct. The troop fell silent, watching the scene unfold.
Kimo yanked his hand back and scampered away, wide-eyed and trembling. Rika didn’t chase him. She didn’t need to. Her message had been delivered.
But the day had only begun.
Later, the troop moved to a nearby clearing. Rika followed slowly, holding Nanu carefully while watching for danger. The troop’s dominant female, Lana, approached her.
Lana was older, wiser, and respected. She had raised six babies of her own. She wasn’t there to threaten Rika—only to check on the newborn. Still, as she came closer, Rika let out a warning chirp.
Lana paused, lifting her hands in a calming gesture. “I only want to groom you,” her posture seemed to say.
Rika hesitated. She trusted Lana more than most, but distrust still laced her heart like thorns. She shifted uncomfortably, covering Nanu with her arms.
Finally, she allowed Lana to sit beside her—but at a distance. Lana groomed Rika gently, making soft cooing sounds. The troop relaxed again.
But peace never lasted long around a newborn.
A group of juvenile monkeys began playing nearby, jumping between branches, wrestling on the ground. One of them—a bold little girl named Mimi—bounded too close to Rika, curious about Nanu’s tiny sounds.
Rika leaned forward slowly. Her body stiffened. Her chest rumbled like a storm brewing.
Mimi ignored the warning.
She reached her small hand toward Nanu’s furry head.
Rika exploded.
Her roar shook leaves from the branches. She slapped the ground beside Mimi with such force that dirt sprayed into the air. She didn’t hit the young monkey, but she came close enough to terrorize her.
“Back off! Back away from my child!”
Mimi screeched and ran, tail between her legs. Even adult males flinched at Rika’s fury. Lana placed a calming hand on Rika’s back, but the young mother was trembling, adrenaline burning through her veins.
She looked down at Nanu, who whimpered softly, confused by the chaos.
Her expression softened immediately.
She kissed his head, crooning softly as she rocked him against her chest. Her anger melted into tenderness as quickly as it had erupted.
That was Rika—dangerous thunder to outsiders, gentle rain to her baby.
Hours later, something happened that tested Rika’s instincts again—but this time, it wasn’t another monkey.
A human researcher, new to the area, wandered too close. He crouched, fascinated by Nanu’s tiny size. He extended a hand—not to touch, just to observe more closely.
But Rika didn’t know intentions.
She saw only danger.
She sprang upward with a scream so sharp it cut through the forest like a knife. The man stumbled back, heart pounding. He’d been warned about Rika, but he didn’t understand how fierce she truly was until that moment.
Her eyes locked onto him—wild, bright, overflowing with rage.
She made her message clear again, even if he didn’t understand monkey language:
“Don’t touch my child.
Don’t try.
Don’t even think about it.”
Her body shook with intensity, but she stood her ground, protecting Nanu with every fiber of her being.
The researcher raised both hands and slowly backed away, whispering apologies. Only then did Rika return to her baby, panting but victorious.
She groomed Nanu, heart pounding but grateful he was unharmed. The troop watched in awe. No one dared to approach for the rest of the day.
Even the alpha male kept a respectful distance.
As the sun began to set, the troop settled into their sleeping trees. Rika climbed high, choosing a strong branch where no one could reach her. She curled around Nanu, wrapping him in her warmth, her scent, her heartbeat.
He squeaked once, nuzzling into her fur.
And Rika whispered soft, loving sounds.
Her entire world was this tiny, fragile life.
She would starve for him.
She would fight for him.
She would die for him.
And she would destroy anyone who dared bring him harm.
Because for a mother—whether human or monkey—love can be fierce, unstoppable, terrifying, and beautiful.
As the forest grew quiet and night blanketed the trees, one truth settled over the land:
No one would ever touch Nanu unless Rika allowed it.
And she never allowed it.
