Kinara would shift and wiggle a bit more within the confines of his green bindings before ultimately going somewhat lax, and allowing his body to hang somewhat lifelessly above the jungle floor. He was at least... five, maybe five and some what more feet off of the ground at this point, and thus didn't need to worry too much about his long, furry ears getting wet in hindsight. Had he given up on trying to get free? No, not really-- but with him being suspended so high up, he didn't need to worry too much about getting eaten by anything he couldn't see coming from a little ways away.
That gave him a minute to really admire the scenery, and so admire he did. Traveling through the forests, his eyes were occasionally glued to the ground and his footing after all; He didn't stop all too often and take in the sights and sounds of the Kishahn Jungle. It was, at least at midday, a pretty beautiful place in it's own right, he quickly noticed! The stray beams of light that managed to penetrate the deep and varied layers of foliage above gave an incredible contrast to the dense foliage. The sound of running water, and what was likely some sort of songbird fluttering from one tree to the next did put Kinara's heart at such blissful ease that he debated how safe it would be to take a small nap, secured as he was.
A bead of sweat rolled up the boy's face, rather than down; an amusing side-effect of hanging awkwardly as he had been, which caused an itch he couldn't scratch on the side of his face. Well, safe or not, it would've been hot sleeping-- the humidity clearly wanted him to keep at least that much in mind.
Nearby shuffling broke Kinara from his mental musings and alerted him to the presence of something much larger than a songbird-- and on land, no less. From his awkward position, he couldn't quite see who, or what, it was... But that didn't matter too much, given his current situation. A predator might make easy prey of him-- a passerby might be a bit less bite-y. Might. "...Um, hello? Is anyone nearby? I somehow got tangled in these vines, and could use a hand!" He called out, still unable to actually see in the direction the shuffling was coming from. Admittedly, this was probably really stupid-- his dad, master pragmatist that he was, would've bonked him on the head for announcing his presence and helplessness so readily. But, really, what difference did someone knowing he was easy pickings or not knowing he was easy pickings make when he couldn't even move?