《The Angle of Death and other Mathemagical Hazards》Rise of the Cowculator

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Newt was a normal cow, with an abnormal name. Not that Newt ever really thought about her name. Or much other than grass, sun, fullness, shelter. Maybe not even in those terms.

A childish voice. A basso voice. An argument. These things didn't mean much, except the voices were noisy and close.

"I'll do whatever I want. It's fun." The voice rose and fell in waveforms of sound, from merely child-like to squeaky and back down. The higher pitches bothered Newt more.

"I can see you're inclined to make a mess. Very well. You should know better, but I guess you must play the angles as you see them." The basso timbre was oddly southing, even if the words were essentially meaningless.

A flying apple hit Newt in the head, making her dizzy for a moment. Then two moments. Then four.

Wait... are those... numbers? Am I .... counting? This is disturbing.

Newt considered height. Newt pondered dimensions. Newt thought about how to derive the area under a curve.

I shall call this .... cowculus.

And thus began the saga of the Cowculator.

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