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.

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.

It took a few minutes for Figment to notice he was being watched. The sensation came upon him when he paused in his thrashing to catch his breath. There was something in the stillness of the sounds around him when he wasn't making such a ruckus himself. He spun to sweep his gaze across his surroundings and froze when his green eyes landed on Niamh. His expression showed his surprise even after he gaze his head a quick shake to resettle his thoughts. Of all the wolves to catch him at this, it had to be Niamh?

"Uh... Hey," he said, feeling foolish. With a jolt, he realized this meant only Chanel and Eljay were with the kids, which worried him. But he consoled himself that they weren't too far. And he knew enough of Niamh to know it was probably not a great idea to question the decisions she made about her children, lest he inadvertently suggest she might be doing something wrong.

She was more amused than she was perplexed by his actions- thrashing about with a fairly sizeable stick in his mouth- almost big enough to be a log by the looks of it, which must've worn on him with the resistance of the water's flow as well. It certainly wasn't some new fishing technique, so she assumed that Figment was simply taking some time on his own, given he wouldn't have many others his age in the pack at the moment- to play. And when he was noticed, he stopped, and looked rather sheepish.

She gestured with one long, slender limb toward the stick he'd been mauling. "Did you at least give it a quick death?" She called out.

Her question made him smile. There was no malice or mockery in the jest, which put the young wolf at ease. He imagined that any wolf would've looked at his antics and think he was a grown man, playing games with imaginary friends. It was something another might've easily mocked, but Niamh was kind enough to refrain.  "Of course," Fig replied promptly, "I wouldn't want to be cruel." 

She hadn't asked, yet he felt compelled to explain himself. Even if she wasn't going to make fun of him for playing make-believe, he still wanted her to know that wasn't the case. "I come out here sometimes to.. train," Fig explained, his hesitant words making his slight embarrassment obvious, "Y'know... strength and stamina... Thrashing heavy objects helps. So does the water's resistance. It's... dumb..." He was disapppointed to find that explaining himself really didn't ease his embarrassment at all. It actually made him feel even dumber, though he tried to shrug as though he wasn't bothered. Poor kid.

She chuffed with a nod, approving at least of the fact that Figment admitted he wasn't a cruel wolf- which was already common knowledge, as far as she could tell. He stood against the flow of the water and offered an explanation which made Niamh blink in surprise. Training? She hadn't figured that Figment was the sort who would want to bulk up- unless perhaps there was a certain someone he was potentially trying to impress. He'd be two years old soon enough- so perhaps there might have been a special someone. This idea made Niamh almost giddy but she decided to keep that to herself, and bother Phox for details, later. 

"It is dumb," She agreed, and cleared her throat. "When you have a perfectly good Sergeant-at-Arms on hand to train with," She huffed, swiftly turning her face aay and giving him a wickedly wry side-eye, as though he'd insulted her by choosing a stick his opponent and not her.

Her next comment did not help his embarrassment, though he knew she meant it in jest. Fig of course had never dreamed of asking her to train with him. It felt like you needed to ascertain a certain level of closeness before you asked someone to fight you, which he didn't really feel he had with the golden regent. Sure, she was his father's mate and mother to his half-siblings. But still... What time did she really have between leading and pup raising to spend bonding with her adult stepson? He'd always just made the assumption was none.

Apparently, he had been mistaken. That just made him feel more awkward. He forced a smile still, not wanting to infect her with his discomfort. "I figured you wouldn't have the time," he explained, only semi-honestly. She didn't need to know about the rest of his baggage.

Figment was a considerate wolf, and he hadn't been far off the truth. Until now, she hadn't noticed that Figment had chosen to go off and train using water resistance as a means of doing so, likely because she had three children and a pack to lead. It made her heart ache to think that perhaps she wasn't tending to the other aspects of being a leader- such as checking in with the individuals were all doing well and on course with some trade or another- but she also couldn't do everything. Still, this was her specialty. And, busy or not, she quite enjoyed getting the chance to revert back into a fighting machine. 

"It's ok, Fig," She said with reassurance. She paused for a moment, hoping he might've taken her seriously. "You can just admit it, no shame." She said, before she back up a few paces and lowered into an inviting play bow. "You were just too scared to challenge me."

Niamh didn't refute that she was indeed a busy woman, but she didn't take it as a cop out either. Instead, she twisted it in a way that reminded him very much of Fennec. The comparison made him feel more at ease, so he smiled freely at her taunt and waded out of the lake to meet her challenge.

Fig paused once he placed all four paws on dry land, considering his move for about a split second before he went with his instincts. He jumped forward towards her, but purposely fell short a few feet away. Once he landed, he gave his coat a good, hard shake, sending water and mud flying every which direction. His intent was to startle her, and maybe even get her to turn her head. He didn't wait to see if it worked though before he lunged forward, aiming to make a quick grab for her ruff and/or use his weight to knock her to the ground.

He emerged from the stream bringing with him a thick, dark pelt full of water which he promptly flung in all directions with a rapid, violent shake. Niamh, offended by the gesture, reeled backwards and hissed softly as she backpedaled to get out of the spray but wasn't quick enough to do so. She grimaced almost unwillingly against the sheer cheek of splashing someone this time of year- but failed to see that this was a part of his tactics- and that he'd intended to use that as a distraction. It worked- and she'd been angled away from him slightly when he suddenly dove toward her while her eyes were squinted. She hadn't even had time to shout a string of obscenities at him before his chest smacked against hers, and she felt his teeth sink through the beige fur of her shoulder, high up on her shoulderblade. 

She snarled, but was secretly pleased, and knew that with the skin and fur being so loose there, he'd managed to get a good mouthful that would keep her from getting away from him. So she would have to put their proximity to good use, as she couldn't wrench herself from his grip unless he let her free- which was her next aim. While being held by the thick fur at her shoulder wasn't terribly painful, it was very limiting- so she decided to resort to inflicting pain in order to get him to release. She didn't have a great range of motion, due to being scruffed, but she pushed toward him and snapped her jaws at his nearest foreleg, hoping to repay his stronghold with a bout of keen pain.

Fig's plan worked. He tightened his grip on her ruff as he felt her fold beneath him. He would've called her subdued then and stepped away so they could re-engage on fairer footing (now that he'd had his fun), but she twisted, and suddenly there was pain in his foreleg. He cringed, but withstood the pain for a moment as he considered what to do next. In a normal fight, he would've just shaken her as hard as he could until her neck snapped. But this wasn't a real fight, and he didn't want to risk doing actual harm to her. 

So, he tried Plan B. After all, not all fights were had with the aim of killing the other. This was something too he needed to learn to deal with. Fig didn't release his hold on her scruff, but pushed into her, trying to further immobilize her by pressing his weight harder against her, trying to shove her further into the ground.

WC: 244

Niamh was well aware of the fact that while she was a very tall wolf, she was also quite slender and didn't have a lot of weight or brute strength on her side. So when she'd messed up and had allowed Figment to get a hold high on her shoulder, she'd been put at an immediate disadvantage by merit of the fact that he was a strong young buck, and had both gravity and weight to his advantage. Biting at his leg seemed to do very little, and he continued to press down at her so she decided it was time to change tactics.

If he wasn't going to respond to the threat of pain, she'd have to actually inflict it.

She wrenched her neck to the side, releasing the pressure on his leg and aimed higher, making biting grasps into the thick for of his chest as she began to work her way with her lean muzzle toward the crook of his jaw. He had her shoulder- so she wouldn't be able to get the best angle but if she could manage to hook her lower jaw anywhere near his jugular, she wanted him to at least know that she was still a threat- and that unless he wanted his windpipe threatened, he ought to take a bit more space for himself. Though her skill was speed, she was also a sneaky devil- and would use their proximity to her advantage as well.

Fig hadn't anticipated her next move. Niamh apparently fought far dirtier than he was willing to. He felt her twist until the threat of teeth was on his neck. He could be stubborn during fights--something that was often his downfall. He didn't want to let go of his leverage, but he acted on instinct to protect himself. He let her shoulder go, moved back a little and reached for her muzzle, aiming to ensnare it in his teeth and drive her back away from his vulnerable parts.

wc:158

When she was released she felt she'd gained a bit of ground, having begun the fight at a disadvantage. The ground beneath him was made slick from the water that dripped from his pelt, and Niamh found that frustrating. It was more difficult for her to differentiate between sparring and fighting- and she was such a sore loser that she often lost track of the boundary between the two simply because she didn't want to give in, or throw a match.

So when she found herself nearing her mark, she also felt Figment's fangs graze her muzzle in a warning- which her body naturally interpreted as a threatening. He gripped her muzzle for a moment and her jaw fell open, but wrecklessly, she snarled. He'd triggered her temper with that move, and she shook her head viciously to disengage his snare if she could, and sought to lunge toward his throat again to punish him for such impudence.

Fig could tell the moment her frustration turned to real anger. Or, at least he was very aware of the moment he interpreted it as such. Perhaps it was soft of him, but the boy had no desire to turn any of his practice spars into real fights. This one felt like it was on the verge of such, and so he released her muzzle without resistence and backpedaled away from her with his chin tucked low to disengage, if she would allow him to do so. Winning and losing had never had any relevance for him when it came to these practice battles, so he felt rather bewildered as he tried to move away as to what had happened to turn her temper on him.

wc:253

She pursued the dark-furred yearling a few steps as he recoiled, and she could see the bweilderment in his features, likely caused by the sudden ferocity of her attack. She huffed, bristling and raising her tail as though to challenge him to make a move again, or accept the fact that he'd removed himself from her proximity as a means of expressing that he was done fighting. In her mind, this was a victory for her- and she'd had every right to put a bit more steam into the fight. If Figment was going to learn how to defend himself, he'd need some experience dealing with a wolf who actually hasd some intention of causing him harm.

Of course, it meant she was more or less bending the rules of a spar- but she hadn't drawn blood or caused him too much pain in doing so. She flicked her tongue over her bared teeth for a moment, before she calmed. “I know nobody likes it,” She said in a low voice, but she was calm when she took a moment to speak, having released some of her frustration in getting him to back away from her. “But you have to learn how to respond when someone does get dangerous with you,” She said. She blinked owlishly at him, and lowered her tail back down to a neutral stance, allowing the tip to wave a bit so that he might perceive the lull in tension. “Better against me than against someone you can't predict.”

Fig was relieved when she didn't pursue him, hoping now they could take a moment and he could find out what he'd done to anger her. She spoke first, though, causing his brows to lift in surprise. She spoke of him needing to know how to handle it when there was real violence in a fight, and it made him pause. Had he mistaken her emotions? Maybe she had gotten angry simply to give him a more realistic opponent.

He wasn't certain and he wasn't inclined to move forward until he was. "I thought I made you angry, or upset you somehow," Fig admitted, feeling a bit stupid, "It felt like the fight turned real for you and I just... I didn't mean to offend you."

wc:408

The reality of the situation wasn't something Niamh would easily comprehend. But when Figment had managed to grab her muzzle, he'd shown that he could better her, in a spar. Spar rules were more about moves and manipulations than pain and bloodshed, after all, and she shouldn't have put herself in a position where he could make a grab that in any other fight, could have ended it for her. The truth of the matter was that Niamh did not like having boundaries, like the ones that existed in a spar. She found it was like flinging herself at an invisible wall that she couldn't see- but that stopped her momentum nonetheless...And such things frustrated her beyond measure. He had angered her because he'd bested her. But she felt his win had been unfair because she felt that if she'd been allowed to hurt him, then she could have won.

The kids became significantly more difficult to deal with when they were too big to simply be man-handled or guilted into submission. Last year's kids were too big to simply be flattened with a paw, but not quite experienced enough to handle a full-on fight, like the ones she'd had with Fennec or Bronco. The in-between was a very uncomfortable place for Niamh.

She was also a sore loser, and she knew it. So she'd warped the rules and had snapped at him, and then called an end to their spar.

So she shrugged at his comment and snickered. “Oh Fig.” She sighed, and shook her shoulders out. Maybe she didn't have to be such a sore loser with him- he wasn't Bronco, after all. “Well, to be fair- I am easily offended. I think everybody knows that by now,” She said, lightening up a bit and accepting that truth with a wry laugh. But that was about as much of an admission as he would get from her- at least, today. “Good spar.” She said, and forced herself to acknowledge his skill. “And...good job, getting a snap at my muzzle. If that'd been a real fight, that could've ended it. But it wasn't a real fight. But-” She said, and shook the last bit of water out of her pelt, that had been flung at her pre-spar. “If you want to, sometime, have a real fight- let me know and I'll knock you on your ass. But I think that's enough for today. Grub?” She asked.

She seemed to be amused by him, which he reasoned was a good thing. It meant she wasn't angry, anyway. Fig smiled at her jokes and non-chalance, but listened intently to her words. He couldn't imagine approaching her for a real spar. At least, not when he now understood better what she meant by it. Figment was not a violent wolf, simply a protective one. He was confident he'd manage well in a real fight, but he had no desire to truly engage in one.

Though if that's what he needed to do to be better...

Well, this gave him something to think on if nothing else. He'd caught his breath by the time the conversation came to a close, and he accepted the invitation to hunt with a smile and a nod before setting off with her.