“Either way, he’s still around and could have both the means and motive to wish us harm. We need to investigate when we get the chance.” “What? Oberon, that doesn’t make any sense.” “Do you perhaps mean pi, the mathematical symbol?” My efforts over the years to instruct Oberon in basic timekeeping and other mathematical concepts had failed utterly—except in the realm of vocabulary, I suppose. He soaked that all up and spouted it out later in unpredictable combinations. He had tried, for example, to rate dry dog food on “the quotient of the beef correlationcoefficient” and sausage on a “pork echelon matrix.” But he still got confused if you asked him to count beyond twenty. “Oh, I think I see now,” I said. “You are using shepherd’s pie as a unit of measurement.” “But that’s math.” “Didn’t you use gravy in this manner before?” contains a rich beef gravy. So pie is on another level than gravy, see?> “I think so. This means that cold chicken, for example, would be a kind of gravy, while a slow-roasted tri-tip would be …?” “Got it. I think you’re right, buddy,” I said. “Brighid is totally jealous.” Granuaile and I shifted to our hooved forms and we picked up our pace again.
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