* Are you still there?
* ...
* Do you remember yet?
* No.
* Please keep speaking to me.

There's a beast. It invades their territory, stepping through the marsh with its large paws, long, sharp claws connected to them. It lifts its head, sniffing at the air and opening its mouth filled with ferocious teeth. It leads on a trail, silently, focused on its work. There's a beast and he is hungry.

How the Siberian tiger wound up within their territory would be a mystery to the members, and is irrelevant to him. He wandered in here, in search of food. He is aware of the scent marker, but he does not find himself caring enough to bother with it. The male knows he has experienced groups in the past, when he was different, and he can take enough from those memories to comprehend how to deal with the groups. If it was really necessary, he would force himself to join. It does not make a difference to him. He could leave whenever he wanted, but he can pick up from his memories that being a part of a group does mean free food. Speaking is not easy, but he will find a way. He performed it so easily before, after all.

But, this idea of aligning within whoever's territory he may be in right now is not at all at the top of his priorities. He came here for food, and he intends to get it. It is not easy to stalk his prey in these wetlands, but thankfully he can rely on his speed and size. His paws sink into the muddy ground quietly, gaze locked onto a rabbit in the distance, moving slowly, creeping near it. Its ears swivel in his direction, head held up alert, and this is when he takes the opportunity to lunge. His paws leap towards it, strong legs pushing him in the direction of the running prey.

However, when he lands, he finds that they are both within some sort of trap. The tiger snaps his jaws around the rabbit, attempting to pull them out, front paws tangled within the net. He lets out a snarl, thrashing around. His tail flicks back and forth rapidly, claws wiggling around as he tries to get out, only tangling himself further. He lets out a roar, struggling within the trap.

His violent thrashing continues, attempting to forcefully rip apart the net to no avail. There is that old saying, if at first you don't succeed, try, try again and it seems the large beast is taking it literally. Of course, one cannot expect results to change if they do not change the process in some manner, not that this will click in his mind. Just try again. Eventually the net must give out, surely. Snarls and growls release from him, frustration fueling his actions, sharp teeth bared. He must make this awful thing get off of him! He simply wanted to eat his rabbit in peace, but now he is trapped. He contemplates giving up, saving his energy. But, he only stops when he senses another approaching. He instantly tenses up, a low, warning rumble rising from his throat. His tail twitches back and forth and he attempts to position himself in a defensive manner. The withered, torn flower crown wrapped around his right front leg inches closer to his chest. His eyes stare at it, a fire behind the heart-shaped glow within his gaze. It speaks to him. This must be one of them.

His rumble becomes a bit louder. He does not wish to speak, but he wants them to hear his frustrations, he wants them to know not to mess with him. Danger is present. If they threaten him, he will be benefited from his strength and size, but he is tangled within the trap. It is not an ideal situation. The tiger's head slowly shifts over his catch in a protective way, not allowing anyone to take his prey away from him. It is clear, when looking closer and longer at the male, that he is skinny for a Siberian tiger. It is not to an unhealthy point, but it is noticeable.

The fact that the individual calls for help will indicate to him that they likely will not threaten him or his catch, but he does not relax. "Rrrrr-Roy," he struggles to state, grumble in his voice. If they are going to help, he will not threaten them but he will not lose his guard.

More arrive, and he finds himself tensing further. There is a strength in numbers. Alarms blare within his mind and tell him to prepare to attack. But, he will not go after anyone yet. They have not acted in a threatening manner to him. The words spoken to him next were some sort of scold, that he could basically understand, but did not really care much for. He does not acknowledge it further than a glare, staring as the child approaches him. He lets out a small, warning rumble, but does not go louder or further than that. He watches her circle around, head remaining over his catch. He wishes for this to be over with already and he knows that this girl would be unlikely to act aggressive towards him, unless he did so first. She was much too small to stand a chance against him, even with the one other individual here and his trapped figure. If anyone would attack, it would be the jaguar.

He bares his teeth in a defensive manner as she gets even closer, but does not do more than that - he can see she is tugging at the net that has entangled him, even if she is getting a bit closer to his face. The jaguar reaching out and attempting aid in the endeavor would cause him to tense even further, letting out a powerful huff towards the two. Once free, he immediately grabs at his prey, picking up the prey quickly and protectively. His eyes flicker to another that arrives, pushing his body away from them.

His ears twitch once to the stranger's words, looking away. He is already tired of speaking, and he has only just stated his name. "Prrrrrey...mrrine," he grumbles, lifting his head high, biting deeper into his rabbit. What exactly he means by this is not incredibly clear, besides that he is claiming his catch. Whether he means more than this, though, would not be explained.