Cricket Creek Bog raises a number to a power of a specified number.

Fig didn't like to be too far from the Copse while his parents and Fenn were away at Moonspear, so he didn't leave the territory too far in his rearview when he set out that morning for some exercise. He'd been somewhat disappointed not to be joining them on the trip--he missed Meerkat and Bronco and was curious to learn more about this sister pack of theirs. But, his three younger siblings were here, and Towhee and Phox leaving meant they were down two protective forces. Staying made sense for that respect, and he was at least glad to have something so important to do.

Without Towhee or Phox around, though, that meant he was lacking a sparring partner for the day. Fig was pretty good at being independent, though, and creative. He knew there were other ways to improve his physical fitness other than actually fighting with someone. So, he'd started his day off with a long run that had left him panting and near shaking with weariness. He'd taken a few moments to slake his thirst at a stream and relax his muscles before working on the next task--strengthening his neck muscles by attacking a large stick.

The stick was half his length and as thick around as a football (whatever a football is, wolves don't know). His jaws ached just holding onto it, which was exactly what he wanted. To make it more challenging, he'd trudged into the stream until he was immersed nearly up to his shoulders to add the water's resistance to the fight. Then, he thrashed about.

Fig was fully aware he looked like an utter moron, but that was one of the reasons he preferred to come out to the Bog for this. There were fewer eyes out here to spy on him while he trained, plus he could usually nab a frog or two to bring back to the pack for a snack.