Manuel's breath hitched as the slightest displacement of air rustled the leaves on his branches.
The little sloth had fallen.
After he hit the soft ground, a hush fell about the jungle.
"Clumsy mother," a mangrove whispered.
"He will die before nightfall," the palm answered.
The babe cried below while overhead his mamá's heartfelt moans pierced the warm, thick air.
She could not climb down to the jungle floor by nightfall. Manuel knew sleep would soon claim her.
The baby sloth's cries grew louder.
A troop of monkeys gathered around Manuel's branches, their howls blotting out all other sounds.
"Hush," Manuel said. "You will bring The Gato."
"Better the sloth than me," a monkey answered before thrashing through the leaves.
Manuel was unhappy. Never had he known creatures more gentle than the sloth and child. Not since the woodpecker. But that was ages ago.
A monkey jumped violently onto Manuel's branches. "Maybe the ants will get it before The Gato," he taunted.
Manuel's leaves shook with anger. "You should bring the sloth to his mother."
The monkey answered with a laugh before swinging to the next tree.
"Manuel is going soft," a mangrove snickered.
"Maybe his roots are rotting," the palm answered.
Manuel refused to answer their taunts.
"We are not keepers of the jungle, Manuel. We are watchers."
Manuel sighed. "I am tired of watching."
Though his sight was limited to the small copse of jungle where he dwelled, like all trees, he could also 'feel' for miles. Every cell in his frame was so attuned to the earth, he could trace the flutter of a butterfly or the erratic pattern of an ant colony far below the incline where his roots had taken hold.
He could sense the approach of predatory animals, too. And, yet, it was not his duty to warn other animals. He was expected to watch and record, a keeper of time. Nothing more, nothing less.
"Remember the woodpecker," the mangrove scolded. "Your limbs will go soft if you continue this foolishness."
The babe's cries dropped to a whimper.
Panic shot through Manuel's limbs. "He will die if we do nothing."
"It is the way of the jungle," the monkeys resounded.
"It does not have to be," Manuel said this to himself. He knew the other jungle creatures would not listen.
"Thank you, Manuel."
The pain in the sloth's low voice cloaked him like a shroud of heavy fog. Her large eyes filled with moisture as she clung to the nearby mangrove.
"Mamá," Manuel whispered. "I thought you were sleeping."
"Sleep eludes me now."
Manuel's roots tensed as currents of regret and sorrow pierced his trunk. "Can you not climb down to your child?"
"It will be past nightfall before I can get to him. I am only a sloth," she spoke through a low sob.
