The monkey stood before me, its hand extended toward me.
Its palms were rough with calluses, and the streaks of white in its fur reminded me of a person's gray hair—clear signs of age.
From its gaunt frame and bony build, it seemed hungry and dehydrated, though the gesture might not have been intentional.
This was the same monkey that had raided our camp for water the previous night.
Noticing its dirty paws, Jasmine grabbed a small coconut shell and filled it with fresh water.
The monkey, clearly accustomed to coconuts, cupped the shell in its hands with practiced ease and drank deeply.
Moved by the sight of the old creature, Mina offered it some of our leftover food.
The monkey scooped the food out of the shell with its paws, shoveling it into its mouth as if it hadn't eaten in day
