As any sane human could tell you, the southern jungles are a treacherous place. Even if there weren't bipedal beasts hiding in the trees, waiting to pounce on intruders and tear them to shreds, there were plenty of other dangers that lurked in the woods. Malaria had killed just as many men as tribal blades, venomous snakes lay invisible in the underbrush, and the smallest bite from a wandering spider would be more than enough to bring the strongest of soldiers to a blubbering end. And beyond the physical dangers, the shifting, dappled shadows could conjure up all manner of unsightly terrors in a fearful mind, driving those unfortunate enough to enter straight into death's waiting jaws.
It was in this jungle that the Fairweather Trading Company was stubbornly fighting a losing battle against a bunch of humanoid jaguars, hoping to drive the creatures out and claim whatever riches they were obviously guarding. Two years and millions of gold coins hadn't gotten them a single inch into the jungle; any camps they lay down wound up slaughtered within days, and the precarious rivers prevented a sizable force from forming fast enough to attack. It seemed like the savages knew every move they would make, always two steps ahead with an ambush or three set in just the right spots. Three thousand and seventy-four soldiers had died in the drawn-out conflict, and for one poor soul in particular, that number seemed about ready to become three thousand and seventy-five.
Private Thomas Perkins had been running headlong through the slapping leaves and tripping roots of the jungle for what seemed like hours, desperately trying to reach the distant sound of gunfire while fleeing the sight of the rest of his squad. Before he even knew what was happening, two men had been skewered with arrows while his sergeant had gotten pounced; the horrid gurgling sound of the man's throat being cut still haunted his memory, and the emerald glare of the savage that did it had driven him to flee. Thomas didn't know if he was being chased, and if he was being chased, how close he was to getting his own neck opened up, all he knew was there were more humans ahead, there had to be... until the guns of whoever it was out there went quiet.
Realizing that he might be the only human left, the young private frantically put his rifle to his shoulder and turned to face whatever might be giving chase, hoping he'd catch a glimpse of spotted pelt before something came crashing down through the tree canopy and-SNAP.
The human turned toward the sound and fired off a shot in a fit of blind panic, then reloaded, half-aimed, and fired again at what sort of looked like a crouching creature. When the smoke cleared, he realized neither bullet had come remotely close to hitting anything, and after a moment's intense listening, he heard... nothing. The entire jungle was eerily quiet, with nothing but the sound of wind moving through the trees to make him think he wasn't deaf. Of course, that didn't mean he was safe, but since there wasn't anything attacking him at that moment, the private had a chance to re-orient himself.
"Okay, ah... home base should be west, and I'm facing... east? South?" After slipping another cartridge into his gun, he briefly dug around in his pockets for his standard-issue compass, but it didn't take long to realize he'd left it back at base. Damnit. "Well, the sun's over there, and it's morning, so..." Wait, was it more to the left than usual? It was hard to tell with the leaves in the way... maybe he could climb a tree? No, he thought, looking down at his stiff, bright red uniform coat; there's no way he'd be able to make it to the top, and even if it was possible, he'd have to leave his rifle behind. He couldn't just sit there and wait for a rescue party either... "Guess the only way is forward."
Thomas quickly started off in the direction he guessed was west, tromping through the underbrush with little care for quiet. All that mattered was getting back to base, just do that and-click!
He hardly had time to register the noise before a rope yanked up under his armpits, hoisting him up into the sprawling tree branches as some weight came crashing down beside him. In less than a second, he was hanging fifteen feet off the ground, his rifle lying back in the underbrush and far out of reach; a quick assessment of the situation told him he was caught in a trap, and moreover that something would be along shortly to check on it. Thomas immediately tried to reach for his belt, but the cord under his arm combined with his own weight to make it nigh impossible. Try as he might, the hilt of his knife remained just a few inches out of reach, but it still seemed like a winnable situation... until a feminine voice rung out through the air.
"Mmmm... mira lo que he encontrado..." The young private looked up to see a pair of jade eyes staring back at him from a shadow-dappled silhouette, a shape whose tail and pointed ears marked it as dangerous. It was crouched on a branch a few feet from him, and as he redoubled his efforts to get at his knife, Thomas heard a slight chuckle from the creature. "A bit stuck, conejito?" it giggled, "Maybe I could help with that..." The thing reached down and pulled something from its waist, something that glinted in the sun and reminded the boy of his own infantry knife. Part of him began wondering if it had killed someone to get it, and another part grew curious as to where it had learned English. "...or maybe I'll just gut you while you hang there... decisions, decisions..."
The shadowy figure suddenly hopped forward, moving with eerie grace to a branch closer to where Thomas was hanging. As he resumed clawing at his knife, the private briefly glanced at the creature again, and this time, he could make out quite a bit more. It had the same spotted hide that all the jaguars had, and it was dressed in the same savage manner with revealing hide clothing, but it looked almost... feminine. There were two bulges on its chest, too, and the leather strip covering them left a bit of a furry cleavage. His eyes lingered just long enough for the creature to notice, and it let out another small chuckle while slowly creeping toward him. As he continued to struggle, Thomas finally grabbed the hilt of his knife and yanked it free, and had just raised it to the rope holding him up when that dreadful voice spoke again from behind him.
"Oh, I wouldn't do that if I were you, conejito, it's such a long way down... I'd probably survive, but you..." Thomas refused to listen and began furiously sawing at the rope, quickly finding it to be more robust than expected, but he still managed to cut halfway through in record time. A surge of victorious glee flowed through him as the last few fibers gave way, but it quickly turned to panicked fear once he began hurtling toward the ground. The poor human tried his best to soften the fall by rolling like they always did in adventure novels, but wound up just slamming side-first into the underbrush; the impact knocked the breath out of him, keeping him down for a half a minute as he tried to get air back into his lungs. It took a few more precious seconds to scrabble to his feet and grab his gun, and by the time he'd begun sweeping the barrel around the treetops, the jaguar was already gone.
"Alright, get it together. Base camp's that way... or is it?" All the trees looked the same as Thomas spun around, and trying to figure out which way he'd been heading seemed harder and harder the more he looked. "Damnit, where was I going?" Eventually, he decided on heading left, but instead of running, he took the time to keep his gun aimed at the treetops. That thing wasn't going to get the drop on him again, he thought, and when it reared its ugly head, he'd blow the damn thing off. Well, it actually wasn't that ugly, now that he thought about it... it almost had a kind of exotic beauty... pretty shapely, too...
