Morning light filtered softly through the tall trees near Angkor Wat, warming the stone ruins but leaving the shallow forest pools cool from the night air. The troop moved slowly along the edge of the water, mothers grooming, young ones playing in the leaves.
Lily had always been curious.
She watched the older juveniles splash at the edge of a narrow pool left behind from recent rain. The surface looked calm, almost inviting. With a hesitant step, she leaned forward. Another step. Then suddenly—her tiny foot slipped on the moss-slick stone beneath the surface.
The water wasn’t deep, but it was colder than she expected.
Her small body stiffened. She tried to steady herself, but the mud beneath her toes shifted. A soft cry escaped her lips—confused more than frightened at first. Then louder. A call that carried through the trees.
“Eeeeh… eeeeh…”
From a low branch above, Libby lifted her head.
A mother always knows.
In one swift movement, Libby descended, splashing into the shallow edge without hesitation. She didn’t panic. She didn’t scold. She simply reached forward, steady and sure, gripping Lily gently by the arm and lifting her back onto dry stone.
Lily clung instantly.
Her tiny fingers wrapped tightly around her mother’s fur, pressing her cold face into Libby’s chest. The cries softened into quiet whimpers. Libby sat back on her haunches, wrapping both arms around her daughter, pulling her close for warmth.
The forest resumed its rhythm.
A bird called from somewhere high in the canopy. Leaves shifted in the breeze. Other young monkeys continued their cautious exploration, glancing briefly toward Lily before returning to play.
But for several long minutes, Lily didn’t let go.
Libby began grooming her—slow, careful strokes along Lily’s back, checking for scrapes, smoothing damp fur. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t loud. It was simply what mothers do.
As sunlight slowly reached the stones where they sat, Lily’s shivering eased. Her breathing matched her mother’s steady rhythm. Eventually, curiosity flickered again in her wide eyes.
She looked toward the water.
This time, she stayed close.
Moments like this happen quietly every day in the forests of Angkor. No grand gestures. Just instinct, closeness, and the kind of protection that needs no words.
And if you stood there long enough, watching beneath the ancient trees, you’d understand something simple and universal:
Even in the wild, comfort has a heartbeat.