Frog #1: The Sword

A black spec flew by. He lunged at it. Consuming it.

[You have acquired a new skill: Complete Sword Mastery]

Odd, he considered the notification, he had never used a sword before. Could he change class perhaps? No, that was uncommon. His kind rarely received such opportunity. He would likely need significant fortune to do so. A sword to wield would be a good start.

Could he apply the new skill to other tasks? He meditated in his favorite pond, considering.

One style seemed to resonate with his own attacks. Iaido, quick draw style, a single strike technique. Keeping the blade sheathed, waiting for the perfect moment to strike then putting all your effort into a single perfect strike. Yes, this combined well with his own style.

Should try it to he challenge himself immediately? No, that would be folly. That would be rash, unlike the way of the sword: measured and precise. He would practice, practice was always the way to progress.

He waited, patient as always, but with new purpose in mind.

A black spec crossed his vision. He did not strike haphazardly, he waited.

The perfect opportunity. He struck, and marveled at the power of his strike, easily threefold his previous. To see such progress so soon was a boon.

His meal, however, was ruined. This was not the way to hunt, this skill was for one thing, death. He awaited his next meal and made the capture with more restraint. There was still much to be learned from the sword: precision. He could wait and ensure the meal, rather than simply react.

The next day he chose to face his rival. Another hunter, one of patience and traps, she too captured the same food as him. Yet, she did so with the deception. Then she would drain her targets of blood and vitality. Discarding the nutritious flesh, such a waste.

He waited in the open, a plain challenge. He knew she would not meet it. She never had before. Simply waiting for him or his brothers to strike first and delivering a viciously poisoned counterattack. Today he would wait. Wait for the perfect moment to strike and slay this ancient foe.

As one of the larger black specs few by, it became entrapped in her net. Its struggle for escape alerting the huntress to its capture. He observed, there would be a moment a perfect opportunity in which she lowered her guard.

His patience was rewarded. A single strike destroyed her and her net. A perfect victory, save the foul taste of the netting on his tongue.

Still, he was pleased, and croaked a powerful victory cry to the rest of the swamp.

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Fox #1: Hunting Prey

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The vixen was quite proud of her accomplishments. She was an elegant specimen, best of her generation. Her hunting prowess was unrivaled among her siblings. A deadly huntress of the forest.

Yet, this latest prey was wily. It seemed able to escape any entrapment. Other predators would often interrupt the chase, forcing the fox’s siblings to break off the chase.

The Vixen saw it as a challenge. She would hunt down this elusive prey; refusing to accept failure. Her siblings tried to dissuade her “There are other, easier meals.” they would say. This was not about the meal, not anymore. It was about pride in her pack, in herself.

She stalked the thing for days, encouraging her packmates to chase it so she could observe. It appeared to be a simple rabbit. Yet when spooked, its form could shift. Streaking off at impossible speeds, growing sharp claws so it could climb trees or cliffs, then wings would sprout so it could glide to safety. The Vixen found it lucky it could not truly fly, that would surely make it impossible to catch.

Most devious of all was if it found it was cornered or when simply tired of fleeing. Then it would hide briefly before shifting into a large predator. A wolf was most common, though the Vixen had also seen a small brown bear, once. Then it would simply wait and use intimidation to scare off the smaller predators.

The Vixen was nearly impressed by the creature, but for some reason it always returned to the form of a small rabbit, a weak prey animal. This is how she knew it was unworthy of its strange power. It must be defeated by her, the champion of her pack.

Having stalked it and watched it for days. She considered the best approach to victory. It could escape easily, even from her. The only time that it might stop and confront her was when it became a larger predator. She knew it would not match her fox form. It could not rival her perfection and would try to overpower and intimidate her, likely as a wolf. She might need to fight it in that case, she would be at a disadvantage but a direct confrontation would surely surprise it.

So, the Vixen needed an advantage. She had never fought a wolf before. Such a thing was foolish, they were more than twice her size.

Her stalking and scouting of the prey gave her an idea.

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She observed the wolf pack, staying downwind, cautiously keeping distance. She could not be found, that would end poorly.

She was quite pleased to discover what she was looking for. The smaller wolf cubs fought and played with one another. Much like fox kits did.

She simply observed for a while. To her surprise, a fully grown pair began fighting as well. This is why she was here. To see a true fight between wolves.

The were savage, they used their strength and size to bite and tear at one another, where as a fox would use its speed. She grew distracted by the fight, ignoring her surroundings.

As the fight concluded, her scouting complete, she turned to leave and stopped. One had found her, a smaller specimen, likely the runt of its litter. While it was no cub it seemed to be eyeing her with a playful resolve. She recognised the stance, the shake of its tail. It wanted to play.

The Vixen was afraid and ecstatic, this is what she needed. Direct experience fighting a wolf, hopefully with reduced consequences. She changed her stance to match what she saw when the wolf cubs were playing. The wolf yipped excitedly in response and made the first move.

The play was rough, the Vixen had not had such abuse since she was young. No, even then it had not been this rough. She made many mistakes; her weaker attacks were brushed off and left her open for retaliation. The wolf barely held back, it seemed absurdly happy to be winning.

The Vixen was nearly collapsing from exhaustion when they had to stop. Before now, the other wolves had left them alone. They were far from the rest of the pack, so hadn’t been noticed initially. Their intense play-fighting eventually drew others. The runt noticed them first, stopped and shooed her away.

As she scurried off into the brushland. She was surprised to realize the wolf had protected her. It was possible she had made a friend today.

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