Floreca hadn't realized she'd fallen asleep until she woke up, cold and hungry and sore all over, with her head on Karesema's belly and the rest of her on the damp, hard ground. It took her a few seconds to remember where she was and why she was there. Then the memories flooded her all at once: she and Jadinda waiting up all night for Karesema to come home, realizing she must have been caught and sent to jail, the formal request to the priests for the exchange of punishment, Jadinda clinging to her in hysterical sobbing, the mountain, the Aĉaĵego. Slumping down in the middle of the cave to recover from the day's events, while Karesema brooded by herself. It was a shame for them to be fighting during what would most likely be their last day alive... and Karesema must have felt the same way, because apparently she'd come over to nap with her. Floreca doubted the argument would be brought up again when she woke up.

The Aĉaĵego wasn't there. The blockade of boulders guarding the Aĉaĵego's hideout had been knocked over again. She remembered the puddle on the ledge outside, and she was thirsty. She stood up, with some difficulty as she was still light-headed, and stepped over the fallen blockade, into the sunlight. Though she should have known, from the fact that there was any light at all, that it was still day time, it felt disorienting to step out of the midnight-black cave into a bright, clear day. It felt as though she'd slept for a long time. But the sun hadn't even begun to set.

Aĉaĵego was stooped over the big puddle on the ledge, drinking. Floreca approached it from behind. "Ah... hello," she said, trying to sound pleasant.

It whirled around and faced her, baring its teeth again. Floreca took a step back. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to startle you!" It seemed to relax just a bit, closing its mouth, but it did not drop eye contact, or say anything else. Maybe it was wondering why she had approached it? After a brief hesitation, Floreca continued, "...May I have something to drink?"

It hesitated but then slowly replied, "I suppose thou hast willingly chosen this, and art thus free to do as thou desirest."

Floreca scooped up water with the cup she'd brought with her and waited for the dirt that had come with it to settle at the bottom before drinking. It felt strange to be drinking stagnant water without boiling it first, but she reminded herself it didn't matter now. Aĉaĵego lapped from the puddle with its tongue. Floreca felt a bit awkward. Aĉaĵego didn't seem to like her very much.

"I'm sorry I was too pushy, earlier," said Floreca. "I know it's not my place to question your decisions..."

Aĉaĵego lifted its head long enough to confirm she was done talking, then grunted and continued drinking.

"I suppose that's another thing I'll have to repent of," Floreca continued. She meant it as a bit of self-deprecating humor, but it wasn't really all that funny. "You're going to... bring us to repentance soon, right?" She wasn't really sure what that entailed, she just knew the Aĉaĵego brought people to the mountain so they could repent of their sins before they died.

The Aĉaĵego was slow to answer. Finally it said, "Many humans say they must repent before they die. They pray on their own. I do nothing."

"Oh..." said Floreca. Well, that made sense. The Aĉaĵego let them have time to pray to the goddesses and ask for their forgiveness, but it didn't force anything on anyone. Floreca had already prayed for forgiveness, though. She knew what she did was wrong, but she was also sure the goddesses understood why she did it. She felt at peace. Karesema, however, might be a different matter. The older girl was generally disinclined to pray, and tended to have a proud nature, a tendency to justify her own sins rather than apologize for them. That... might be a problem, Floreca realized. It would not be a pleasant conversation, but she would have to talk to her about it.

"When will you... kill us?" Floreca asked. If it was soon, she would have to go wake Karesema up to talk to her immediately.

"When I hunger," the Aĉaĵego said simply.

"You don't know when that will be?"

"Nay."

A pause. "If you don't mind me asking a favor..." It did not confirm or deny that it didn't mind her asking a favor, so she went on, "Could you give us... an hour's warning at least?"

Another pause. "Yea."

"That's very gracious of you," she said, lowering her head into a sort-of bow. She didn't think the favor warranted a bigger display of gratitude than that, and more importantly, she was beginning to get the feeling that the Aĉaĵego was not simply curt and harsh, but rather, had a preference for straightforward communication. She felt a bit ashamed about it, but... she couldn't deny that its unsympathetic attitude and its denial of knowing Terdiino had caused her to have the slightest beginnings of doubt about the angel's true nature. Of course, she had prayed to Terdiino to have those blasphemous thoughts forgiven, promised she would forget about them as best as her weak, human mind could allow. This act of kindness made it much easier to vanish those doubts.

And thus reassured, she felt more comfortable asking another favor, the one she had wanted to ask the Aĉaĵego since she was a child. "If it doesn't bother you, Aĉaĵego... do you think... while I'm here... you could teach me things?"

Aĉaĵego stopped drinking and cocked its head slightly. "What wouldst thou learn?"

"I want to know about you," she said.

"Why?"

Floreca took a sip from her water bottle, relaxing slightly. "My mother used to tell me stories about you every night. Even though we never met, I've heard so much about you it's always felt like I knew you. I want to know you for real, too... while I have the chance. Besides, you've been alive for so long, You must have many interesting – "

A low growl, like a dog's but much louder, interrupted her, and her first alarmed thought was that she had somehow offended the Aĉaĵego – but then she noticed it was not looking at her, but back at the entrance to the cave, where Karesema stood, shielding her eyes with her hands.

Floreca looked from the Aĉaĵego, to Karesema, and back. "...What's the matter...?" she asked.

"Back to where I put thee, human," the Aĉaĵego snarled.

Floreca was puzzled – had Karesema said something to the Aĉaĵego that would make it angry with her, before Floreca had arrived, or maybe when she was asleep? "Why can't she come out?"

"My humans must stay where I put them," said the Aĉaĵego, not taking its eyes off Karesema. "Thou who hast willingly come to me mayest do as thou wilt. Other humans must stay where I put them, lest they run away."

"I wouldn't run away!" Karesema said, indignant.

"Let's just go," Floreca said, because arguing with an angel was the last thing Karesema should be doing before she faced judgment in the afterlife. Ĉieldiino might dislike the Aĉaĵego, but that didn't mean she would let a human get away with disrespecting an angel. "Here, I'll bring some water..." After refilling the bottle, she met her sister at the door and took her by the hand to walk her back to the inner crevice of the cave, as though the older girl needed a guide. She had not gotten an answer to her last request, she realized – she would just have to wait and see.

"How are you feeling?" Floreca asked, as they sat near a large boulder in the area that the sunlight hit.

"Headache," Karesema complained.

"You have a hangover," said Floreca, handing her the bottle of water. "Why did you drink your wine already, anyway?"

"The guards forced it down me at the offering-spot," she muttered, taking a swig from the bottle.

"Why would they do that?"

"They said to stop me from running away," she said. "I wouldn't have! It's just – " She stopped abruptly.

Floreca waited a moment, then prompted, "Just what?"

"Forget it. That's not what I want to talk about right now."

Floreca hesitated to continue the subject against Karesema's wishes, but... well, she had suspicions about what might have happened, and she might as well bring up the uncomfortable subject and get it over with. "Franjo. You didn't get yourself into a fight with the priests, did you?"

"No. I was just upset, and I guess the guards thought I was going to run. Why would I fight the priests?"

Floreca strongly suspected that wasn't the whole story, but she wasn't really sure what to say about it. "Right. Listen... have you repented yet? I asked the Aĉaĵego, and it said we have to pray for forgiveness on our own. ...And I think, just to be on the safe side... you should ask for forgiveness for everything. Even if it's not something you think is a sin, if you've done anything that's bothered anyone, or if you've had negative thoughts about people... especially if you've had negative thoughts about priests... I'm only mentioning it because I've had thoughts I need to repent of, too, so..."

"I already repented," Karesema said.

"...Oh?"

"Yes. Back at the temple. They gave me the final blessing, then Saĝulo came in and prayed with me."

"Oh! That's great!" Floreca was genuinely relieved. Saĝulo, the high priest, had apparently had a particular affection for their mother when she was growing up in the orphanage, and had played the role of a sort of uncle to the girls when they were children. They hadn't seen much of him since their mother's funeral, but he'd offered Floreca his condolences when she'd showed up at the temple that morning, and was the first to offer a sympathetic ear when she'd told him that wasn't why she'd come. "That was very kind of him... but, still. Just... be extra careful with your thoughts from now on, is all."

"Don't worry about it."

Floreca knew she was being brushed off, but, if it was true that she'd already repented of everything she'd done until now, the best thing she could probably do for her sister's soul was to avoid doing anything that might anger or frustrate her, which would hopefully minimize the number of sinful thoughts she would have in the first place.

For a minute, they sat in silence. Usually, Floreca thought silence was peaceful. Now, her head kept going back to Jadinda clinging to her, Floreca prying her off, leaving her behind, alone. She'd be alone forever, now, Floreca thought, and that made her feel so sick she couldn't bear to think about it. Trying to get it out of her head, she started doodling in the dirt and Karesema wordlessly added to the illustration and soon they had created a scene of a few families on the beach on a rainy day, but as Floreca added a smiley face to the sun peeking out behind the clouds, and Karesema drew a shark clamping onto the leg of a fisherman, the Aĉaĵego came in, and then started stacking the boulders back up near the opening to the crevice, and soon it became too dark to see what they were doodling even with the small amount of sunlight let in by the hole in the top.

"Now what do we do?" Karesema grumbled, like a bored child. But Floreca knew it wasn't boredom – they both needed to be distracted from what was coming, and from what they'd left behind.

"Let's play a story-game," said Floreca.

"With only two people?"

Floreca looked at the Aĉaĵego. "Aĉaĵego! Will you play a story-game with us?"

Karesema looked bewildered "Floreca!" she scolded in a whisper.

"What? Do you want to play, Aĉaĵego?"

The angel made a grunting sound that Floreca assumed meant no.

"I just meant that we don't usually play it with two people," said Karesema. "Not that you should ask the Aĉaĵego to play!"

"It just seemed polite to ask," said Floreca. "You can go first."

Karesema paused for a second, then said, definitively, "The."

"Man," said Floreca.

"...Named," said Karesema.

"...Fidulo," said Floreca, with a smile. It was their father's name.

Their mother had first taught them the story-game back when Floreca was old enough to remember. But she remembered it had been a night when their father was angry – she didn't know why, exactly, but she remembered thinking it was about something she'd done, because he'd been screaming at their mother about bearing him a couple of useless girls and no sons. She and Karesema had been hiding under the bed. Their father knew they were there and could have found them if he'd tried, but he usually didn't seek them out when he was angry, as long as they stayed quiet and out of sight. When the yelling stopped, Floreca and Karesema had been too scared to leave their sanctuary, even though they knew they should check on their mother. Their mother was the one who came, limping, to check on them. When she failed to coax them out, she hid under the bed with them, and when she failed to convince them there was nothing to be scared of, she taught them that laughing was the best distraction from fear.

So their father had become a common subject of many of the sisters' inside jokes, and a common protagonist in the story games. Even after his death. Even when he wasn't the scary thing they needed to be distracted from, anymore.

The plot of their word-by-word collaboration was that their father was asked to become a priest, but then it devolved into something without any kind of plot at all (in spite of Karesema's usual preferences that stories, even funny stories, have some degree of coherence.) Eventually a question arose about whether "Forta Fidulo", their father's true-name and child-name put together, counted as one word or two. The question became a playful argument, and when Floreca pounced on her sister and grabbed her feet, the argument became a tickle fight. Soon they were both laughing uncontrollably, not just from the story or the tickling but also at Karesema's laughter, which sounded like a screaming goat.

The laughter was brought to an end when the Aĉaĵego snatched Karesema up with its tail and slammed her into the ground.

"Franjo!" cried Floreca. Karesema didn't respond. She couldn't be dead, could she? The Aĉaĵego had promised them an hour's warning! Floreca sprung to her feet and ran to her sister... no, she wasn't dead, she was breathing. But she also wasn't responding – she must have had her spirit knocked out of her; the same thing had happened to a neighbor's child once, a girl Jadinda's age who had fallen out of a tree. The girl had woken up unharmed... but Floreca knew she might not have been so lucky.

"What was that for?" Floreca demanded of the Aĉaĵego.

"To quiet her," Aĉaĵego said simply.

"Why didn't you ask us to be quiet?"

Aĉaĵego considered this for a moment, flicking its tail. "I thought not to."

Don't be angry. Don't be angry, she told herself. But she couldn't helped it. It had no reason to do such a thing! She squeezed Karesema's hand, gingerly felt the girl's head – no noticeable injuries. But it was said that if it took too long for the soul to find the body, it would be too late, and the injured would die. After what felt like much too long of a time, Karesema opened her eyes and weakly muttered, "What happened?"

Floreca didn't realize all the muscles in her body had been tensed until they simultaneously relaxed. "Praise to Terdiino," she said – perhaps it didn't make much sense that she had feared for her sister's life, knowing they were about to die anyway, and Karesema was now clean of sin. But still, she was relieved.

Karesema had no memory of anything that had happened after she'd woken up that day. Floreca did her best her explain, tried to get her to drink the rest of the water in the bottle, and eventually let the older girl use her lap as a pillow so she could go back to sleep. All the while she kept repeating in her head Don't be angry, don't be angry, until, finally, her arms stopped shaking, and she could breathe deeply again, and she felt calm enough to speak to the Aĉaĵego again, with civility if not warmth. "Next time we're too loud, please, just ask us to be quiet."

"I will," said Aĉaĵego.

"Thank you, Aĉaĵego. ... In turn, we will try to be more considerate."

"I enjoyed your story," said the Aĉaĵego. "It amused me."

"Oh," said Floreca. She hadn't thought it was paying any attention to the story. Story-games were not meant to be interesting to anyone but the participants. "...Thank you."

"Tell a story unto me," said Aĉaĵego. "A story about me, that thy mother taught thee."

She didn't know why she should be, but for some reason, she was surprised it had even been listening when she'd told it about the stories her mother used to tell. She didn't let the surprise show. "Shouldn't you tell stories about yourself? I think you would know them better than I do..."

"I desire to know what stories humans tell about me."

"I guess I can understand that. I wonder what people say about me sometimes, too." Floreca offered a smile that she hoped didn't look too visibly forced. She was still a bit rattled, but tried to dismiss those feelings. It had promised not to hurt them again. There was no need to dwell on what it had done; Floreca wasn't even the one who had been hurt. She thought of her mother – her infinite forgiveness, the tenderness she returned after every slight – and said, "I will, then, if you do something for me in return."

"Yes?"

"You tell me stories about you, too."

For the first time, the corners of Aĉaĵego's closed mouth tilted slightly upwards. "I will."