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

She heard the thrashing and splashing before she saw it, and thought perhaps that a deer had had its hoof caught in the muck at the bottom of the bog. Having traipsed through it before, she knew how sticky the footing could get, and that if a creature panicked, that they would have an even more difficult time getting themselves free without potentially straining a muscle. And any sort of prey animal with strained muscles sounded like dinner to Niamh. And so, expecting she might find something down on its luck that she could put in her belly, she padded off toward the bog for a temporary leave- figuring that Chanel, Eljay, Weejay and Figment could hold down the fort while she went and checked out the flailmonster. 

And when she first caught sight of a mud-covered wolf her first thought was oh god no not again, Quetzal. She was fairly certain that by now, she must have had at least a boulder's worth of sand and dirt in her belly from all the times she'd hauled Quetzal out of the mud and tried to clean her off...But it wasn't Quetzal. And while he didn't look stuck, Figment was doing something that puzzled Niamh. He had something in his mouth, and was thrashing about with it. Was it a beaver? No, it was too stiff for that. Whatever it was that Figment had in his mouth, he seemed to be somewhat in control of it- at least enough so that she didn't feel obliged to offer aid, or to do anything other than sit down and watch the spectacle for herself.