It was a quiet afternoon in the forest clearing, where the monkey troop often rested. The warm sunlight filtered through the trees, casting golden patches on the ground. But something was different today—something that made the other monkeys stop and stare in silence.
Moby, one of the older monkeys in the group, was walking slowly—too slowly. His leg dragged behind him, and each step seemed painful. He was limping badly, and it was clear that something was wrong.
His usual energy was gone. Instead of swinging from the trees or chasing bugs like he always did, Moby moved with deep effort, wincing with each stride. The troop watched with worry. Moby was not just any monkey—he was respected, strong, and kind. Seeing him hurt was a moment that made even the youngest members of the troop pause.
Among them was baby Vera, a mischievous little monkey full of curiosity. She had been watching Moby too, but not with fear—instead, her eyes twinkled with a question.
“Why is Moby walking like that?” she seemed to wonder. “What would happen if I did the same?”
And so, with a playful giggle, Vera began to limp—just like Moby. She exaggerated each step, dragging one foot and looking back at her mom, who had been grooming herself nearby. When her mother saw Vera’s odd movement, she immediately rushed over, her face filled with concern.
“Oh no! Vera, what happened? Are you hurt?” the mother monkey seemed to ask, anxiously checking her daughter’s limbs.
But Vera squealed with delight and jumped up, hopping away quickly. It was just a trick. A joke. Baby monkeys learn by copying, and this time Vera had copied something serious without understanding the weight of it.
Moby, still walking slowly nearby, turned his head toward the scene. He saw Vera’s little prank and the worry it caused. Though he didn’t speak, his gentle eyes seemed to say: “It’s okay. She’s still learning.”
Vera’s mom, realizing what had happened, gave her a soft but firm nudge. It was a monkey mother’s way of saying, “That’s not funny.” Vera looked a little confused, then guilty. Her playful trick had made her mother panic—and had reminded the group just how real Moby’s pain was.
The troop gathered around Moby, showing him kindness in their own quiet ways—offering him fruit, grooming his fur, staying close to him. Even Vera, now calmer, brought him a small leaf and placed it near his hand.
It wasn’t much, but it was her way of saying sorry.
That day, the forest saw a sad moment, but also a meaningful one. Moby’s limp reminded the young ones how fragile even the strongest can become. And Vera, with all her curiosity and playfulness, took one small step closer to understanding compassion.
