Floreca didn't think she would be able to sleep that night, but she was just tired enough for her guilt and worry and grief and anticipation to blend together into something resembling a dream, in which she never quite lost awareness of what had happened the night before or the soreness of her back from laying on the rocks or how cold it was without Karesema laying next to her, but new, impossible, situations played out on top of the inescapable sensory backdrop. First she dreamed she had gotten up to pick fireberries and Jadinda was there, smiling with chubby cheeks, saying "We don't need to be here. Let's go home!" In the dream, Floreca had thought it was true, but then she'd gotten too excited and woken up only to fall back asleep and hear Karesema saying, "I'm not a blasphemer; was just kidding! You don't need to take everything I say so seriously, Floreca!" but then of course, she woke up again. The third dream was of her mother; Floreca was still a child in that dream, waist level to her mother, and she reached out to grab a soft, safe hand. "Come along, heaven is this way. Your sister is already there – of course I wouldn't leave either of you behind!" her mother said. Floreca woke up crying.

She believed that dreams could be messages, sometimes. Goddesses could communicate with people however they wanted, and sometimes they were kind enough to comfort people, and most of them were free to go between heaven and earth whenever they wanted. So why wouldn't they occasionally take pity on the grieving and pass a message along from a loved one? If only she hadn't had those first two dreams, she could have convinced herself that her last dream really had truly been sent by her mother. But all three of those dreams had been too similar for her to not recognize them – dreams like the ones where she wasn't really sick, or her mother wasn't really dead, or the old dreams from early childhood when her father wasn't really angry. She always woke up as soon as she started to believe the dream was real. These dreams were just her own mind, trying to cheer her up, making a fool of her.

She curled into a ball, hugging her knees and pressing her face into her skirt. Tears fell, and it took all her strength not to audibly sob. It served her right – she didn't deserve a peaceful sleep. This was all because of her. She'd sinned deliberately, calculatingly, and she'd brought Karesema into it. She hadn't even paused to consider the full extent of the potential consequences. How could she have taken it for granted that she'd be forgiven for stealing? Just because she would die otherwise? Just because her sisters would miss her otherwise? She wasn't important enough to justify stealing to save herself. If only she'd accepted her fate and simply decided to live out the rest of her days peacefully. Sure, she'd suffer towards the end, but she could have had many more happy days with her family, and Karesema would have had her whole lifetime.

She herself might not even make it to heaven, she realized. If you lead someone to sin, you get equal punishment. Would it apply to something like this? She almost hoped so. Being chained at the bottom of the ocean alongside her sister didn't sound nearly as bad as having to abandon her there, to be in heaven with her parents and all those happy people knowing Karesema would never be with them.

"Shhh! Floreca!"

The whisper, and the accompanying tug on her shoulder, startled her. She sniffled and blinked away a few tears. Karesema had woken up and come to her side. "Franjo! I'm so sorry!" Floreca cried out, and now that she no longer had to worry about waking her, fell sobbing into her sister's embrace.

"What are you apologizing for this time?" Karesema chided, stroking Floreca's hair. Floreca tried to formulate an answer, but Karesema didn't press for one, so she soon gave up on trying to translate all the things she blamed herself for into words.

They embraced wordlessly for a bit, until finally Floreca's sobs faded into sniffles. The assurance was unwarranted and undeserved, no different than those dreams she couldn't stay asleep for, but still she felt safe and calm in Karesema's arms. "I love you," said Floreca, when she could speak in an even voice.

"I love you, too," said Karesema, squeezing her tight.

And Floreca wondered, how could Karesema not believe in heaven? How could anyone experience something as powerful as love, the kind of love that could make you feel so calm and safe even when you knew you shouldn't feel that way, and not instinctively know it for an everlasting, external force? When she compared the sensation of being held to the kind of feeling she could conjure up in her dreams, the unevenness of the match became apparent. No one's heart could produce such a feeling on its own.

If Karesema hadn't tensed suddenly, Floreca never would have looked back and seen the pair of reflective of eyes trained on her, barely further than an arm's reach away. She startled, and Karesema squeezed her more tightly in response, fingers digging into her sides like the claws of a frightened cat. The sun was rising, Floreca realized. It was time.

"...Good morning, Aĉaĵego," she said.

It didn't greet her back, but said as though in response, "What meaneth the word 'love'?"

"I..." The question wasn't what she was expecting to hear, and would have been difficult enough to answer had she not been preoccupied with imminent death. "It's a... feeling. When you really like someone, and want to be with them."

"I understand." A pause. "I have heard the word many times, but understood not. I believed it meant a desire to mate."

She laughed, taken aback. "Ah, yes," she said. "It can mean that, but that's not the way I was using it."

The Aĉaĵego said nothing, but kept its gaze on her until she became uncomfortable and looked away. Karesema was hiding her fear under a defiant look. Floreca hadn't seen that look on Karesema's face since years ago, when their father was alive and strong enough to be a physical threat. Floreca rubbed her thumb against Karesema's arm; she tried to think of something to say, but the only comforting words that came into her head were lies.

"I will not eat you," said the Aĉaĵego.

Floreca saw Karesema's eyes widened and her face snapped up before Floreca could process the words for herself; when she did, she waited for it to add a qualifier. Surely, it meant it would not eat them yet? Before she could ask for a clarification, Karesema said, "Wh-what?"

"I won't eat thee, Floreca, because I love thee. I really like thee, and want to be with thee. So I will not eat thee." It looked at Karesema. "Nor thee. I love thee not, but thou mayest return to thy home, and live, as Floreca wished."

Tears sprang to Floreca's eyes – she braced herself, waiting to wake up again, but this time she wasn't dreaming. Karesema was going to live. They were both going to live.

"We can... go home?" Karesema asked, not allowing herself to believe it quite yet.

"Thou mayest go home," it corrected. "Thy sister will stay here with me, for I love her."

"Ah... oh," was all Floreca could say, tears now spilling uncontrollably. "Thank you, Aĉaĵego. Thank you!" She scrambled out of Karesema's tight grip – it was difficult, because Karesema didn't seem to notice at first she was trying to get away and didn't let her go – and bowed, her forehead pressed against the floor. "I can't thank you enough – I don't deserve this mercy, I..."

"Wait, no!" Karesema said. "She can't live up here forever; she – "

"Franjo!" Floreca scolded, sitting up. Her head pounded, and she couldn't think straight, but she knew better than to be ungrateful. "Don't you understand? You can go home! We can figure out the rest later – but please, thank the Aĉaĵego and go home to Jadinda!" She realized she felt anxious, worried the Aĉaĵego might change its mind. Tears kept coming, and she didn't know if they were from joy or nerves or residual stress from the night before.

"But I can't leave you!" Karesema protested. She looked desperately from one corner of the cave to another, as if there would be someone there to agree with her. "What will you eat? What will you do?"

Floreca broke eye contact, and the situation hit her – until then, she hadn't thought of herself. It was true, she wouldn't be able to live off berries much longer, but she was dying regardless. Did it matter if it took months or days? She had a chance to save Karesema. It was a much greater gift than she had deserved.

"Small humans do not need much sustenance," said the Aĉaĵego, speaking to Karesema. "I will hunt pigs and birds and all manner of animals, and Floreca will take what she will eat and put it on the fire as humans do, and whatever she eateth not, I will eat. Thou must return to thy home now, lest thou shouldst vex me."

"People need to be with their families," said Karesema.

"Yea," the Aĉaĵego agreed, "I have observed humans, as I have observed ants and small fishes and all manner of creatures, that they require the presence of others of their kind; but I am given sacrifices four times a month, even when I do not hunger, and they will be in her presence while I keep them."

Floreca hadn't had time to think about that – she didn't want to see other people die, so many for the rest of her life. And now that she and Karesema had been in their position, she realized how cruel the system was. Now, her heart ached for every single person who had ever been sacrificed. Even the worst people had families who loved them. It wasn't fair.

"I said family," said Karesema, after a pause. "She's – Floreca's dying! I'm not going to leave her here to die alone!"

The Aĉaĵego snarled and whipped its tail on the ground. "Then thou must return to thy home, and tell all the people in thy village that they must give thee medicine, that thou might bring it here unto us. Tell them that if they send it not, I will descend from my mountain unto the village and kill every human I see, even the priests, until the medicine is given!"

"Please, no!" Floreca said, throwing herself down into another bow. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Karesema, backing away from the growling Aĉaĵego.

Karesema looked like she was about to say something, but shut her mouth after locking eyes with Floreca, realizing she was about to speak. And Floreca couldn't believe she was about to say what she was about to say; it was too much to ask, but she was sure it was the right thing to do; it had to be. Her mother had always told her, if you were wondering whether a choice was right or wrong, to think about how you would feel about it a year later – if it was right, you would be happy with yourself in a year, and if it was wrong, you would someday regret it.

"Aĉaĵego," she said, "I – I am so grateful that you've decided to take mercy on me and my sister, but... not if that means other people will die in our place. So... please, if you want me to stay here with you... and if you want them to send medicine... tell the priests in all the villages that you don't want sacrifices anymore. They'll gladly send medicine instead."

The Aĉaĵego growled. "But I hunger!"

"You can eat animals."

"I prefer to eat humans!"

"Then please eat me. If you killed other people in my place, I wouldn't be able to bear it. I would regret it so much, I would want to die. I would refuse to take any medicine, so I would be able to die sooner."

It growled again. And then it hissed, and then it thrashed its tail on the ground, and flung a rock at the wall, and whined, and snarled. Karesema knelt back down next to Floreca, and put a hand on her back, and they stayed still, like they were waiting for a storm to pass.

And then finally the Aĉaĵego flopped down on the ground, and let out a huff of air, and said, "Very well. I will eat no more humans."

A pause. Karesema inhaled. Floreca sat up. After a few seconds of silence, the Aĉaĵego whipped its tail in Karesema's direction, and hissed, "Go! Return to thy home, and tell the priests what I've said, and return not, save with the medicine! Go!"

Karesema leaped to her feet and stumbled towards the exit. She hesitated and looked back for just a second before she stepped into the light, but before Floreca could even say good-bye, the Aĉaĵego growled again. Reluctance replaced with determination, Karesema ran, not looking back until even the top of her head had sunk below Floreca's range of vision.