So Hungry Both Mom & Baby, Longtail Nurse Very Less From Mom, But Other Drink Nearly All in Pool
It was early morning in the dense forest, where the golden light filtered through the canopy and danced gently on the forest floor. Near a shallow, mossy pool surrounded by tangled roots and smooth stones, the longtail monkeys of the troop gathered slowly. The air was heavy with the dry season’s heat, and water was becoming a rare treasure.
In one corner, a weary mother monkey named Tella sat quietly, her ribs faintly visible through her thin fur. Clinging to her chest was her newborn, Nilo, a tiny longtail with large, curious eyes and trembling fingers that dug gently into his mother’s fur. Nilo had been crying on and off all night, hungry and weak, his stomach never truly full.
Tella had tried to nurse him, but her body could hardly produce enough milk. She hadn’t eaten properly in days. Foraging was competitive, and the dominant females in the group often chased her away from ripe fruits or fresh leaves. The water scarcity only made it worse. Without enough hydration and food, her milk was thin—barely enough to keep her baby satisfied.
Still, she held Nilo close, offering him what little she could, whispering comfort in soft grunts and nudges. Nilo suckled for a moment, but it didn’t last long. He whimpered softly, licking his lips, then pressed his face into her chest as if hoping more might come. Tella closed her eyes in silent frustration.
Meanwhile, just a few meters away near the pool, the dominant monkeys gathered with noisy excitement. Two large females—Rina and Sosa—had arrived early and were splashing their babies playfully as they took long drinks from the clear water. Rina’s little one squealed in delight, her belly round from full feeding and cool water.
The contrast was painful.
Tella looked on from the distance, her parched throat aching. She didn’t dare approach while the bosses were there. They had made it clear: only the top-ranked mothers got first access. If Tella came too close, she risked being scratched, chased, or worse—her baby harmed.
But Nilo was growing weaker. His limbs felt light when he clung to her, and his eyes fluttered from tiredness. She couldn’t wait any longer.
With trembling limbs, Tella slowly stood and made her way toward the edge of the pool. Her eyes lowered, body crouched in submission. She wasn’t looking for confrontation—just a little water, just a little help.
Rina noticed first. Her eyes narrowed as she let out a warning bark. Tella paused. But then Sosa looked away, more interested in chasing her baby, and Rina lost interest. Seizing the chance, Tella dipped her hand into the pool quickly and brought a few drops to her lips. The cool water was like heaven.
She gathered another handful and brought it to Nilo. The baby opened his mouth eagerly, tasting the water dribbling from her fingers. It wasn’t milk, but it was something.
Tella repeated the motion again and again, carefully giving her baby more. For a brief moment, they found peace—mother and child sipping quietly at the edge of life’s simplest gift.
But peace didn’t last.
With a splash, Sosa’s juvenile charged toward them, scattering water in every direction. Tella grabbed Nilo tightly and leaped back, climbing a low tree branch for safety. She didn’t fight—she didn’t have the strength—but she had protected her baby.
From the tree, Nilo looked back at the pool. Most of the water was now muddied by play and trampling feet. The dominant mothers laughed and rolled while their babies slurped freely.
Tella sighed. Her body was weak, her milk drying further. But she had gotten a few sips into Nilo. Just enough to keep him going.
As they settled into the shade of the tree, Nilo curled up in her arms again. He suckled one more time—softly, patiently. Tella stroked his back and whispered the silent promise every mother in the wild makes:
“We’ll survive. One drop, one breath at a time.”
In a world of scarcity and struggle, the bond between a mother and her baby remained the strongest force of all.
