Asterix's eyes opened. Sky. Treetops. Moonlight. A ragged cheer, from the weak voices of the villagers. Warmth. Comfort. Weakness, but all was right with the world—No, wait. Obelix.

Asterix struggled to rise. "O—" But his voice broke off in a coughing fit.

Getafix was there, supporting his back into a sitting position. "Asterix, take it easy. Please let me have a look at you."

"No, I…" He was lifted off his friend's big, soft stomach and sat down on a fallen tree trunk before he could do anything. His head was spinning, limbs cold, but he snapped, "I'm all right!"

"No, you're not," the druid said firmly. He was flanked by the chief and the blacksmith. "You nearly died. Half the blood in your body's lying around in the forest somewhere. Our Roman friend has done an excellent job of saving your life, but you are not to run around as if you're in full health."

Asterix turned to face Obelix. His alarm rose as he saw his friend still sleeping, faint traces of bruises everywhere on his face and what he could see of his bare skin. He couldn't see his friend's legs from where he was, the others blocking the view, so he tried to rise. "How is he?"

But Getafix held him down with gentle hands on his shoulders. "Not yet. Just sit here for a minute, someone will bring you some water."

He couldn't get up without shoving the druid aside, which would not only be disrespectful, but very possibly impracticable, given how weak he felt. "I just want to—"

"No, Asterix." He knew that tone: Getafix used it to tell Obelix he couldn't have any magic potion. "Your injuries have been healed, but the blood you lost will take time to replenish."

"But Obelix…"

"Is fine," reassured Getafix. Very sensibly, Vitalstatistix was letting the druid do the talking. In this kind of mood, he was the only one with a chance of getting through to Asterix. "He's exhausted, as you both are, and your Roman friend Caius Insidius as well.

"Who?"

"The healer who saved your life. I'll explain later. Now, we've managed to get a pair of horses from the Romans in the battle: we are going to hitch them to the cart, and you and your friends are going to get in the cart, and get home for some much-needed rest."

"No. Take the children first."

"The children are…" Getafix began. He didn't have to finish: Asterix lost the battle with consciousness and slumped quietly into a startled Fotogenix's arms.

Someone cried out hysterically. "O Toutatis! He's dead!"

"He's not dead." Getafix's voice rang out. "All three of them are exhausted from the backbreaking emotional labor they have just performed. They'll remain asleep for a long while. They're well. I don't want any doomsaying, is that clear?"

Vitalstatistix looked around at the frightened faces. It was about time he took charge. "Load Asterix into the cart." He stepped close to the druid. "Our druid will check if Obelix can move. The rest of you, make sure everyone's on the potion, men and women. Everyone except for the children. We can't afford an ambush in the middle of the forest like this. Give the horses a drop of potion too – is that safe?" He looked at Getafix, who nodded. "Parents, load the children into the cart with the druid. Getafix, ride with them. Children," the chief looked at them, "I'm depending on you to be good Gauls and listen to our druid. I know you're very tired. You can sleep in the cart and in the druid's hut. Your parents will come and take you home."

He turned to the villagers. "No splitting up. We stay together. I need six of you – no parents – to get in the cart with Getafix and come back here with carts big enough to take us all home. No false pride—I want those of you who aren't too tired. Show of hands?"

Geriatrix and Mrs Geriatrix both raised their hands, followed closely by Bucolix, Adriatix, Cacofonix, Polysyllabix and Fotogenix. "Not you, Cacofonix. You're in no condition to be driving carts. Unless you want to go home and to bed."

"I could help the druid take care of the children?"

"All right. At least that way he can keep an eye on you. Get in, everyone."

The four adults piled into the cart, an unconscious Asterix carried in the druid's potion-enhanced arms, followed by the little ones. "Shouldn't Obelix be in the cart too?" Fulliautomatix asked the chief as he helped Cacofonix up. The big man was still lying with his back against the tree, only half-aware, as though in the lighter stages of sleep: his leg was still clearly swollen and unusable.

"It's too small," Vitalstatistix said regretfully. "The other cart will be here soon."

As the cart trundled off, the chief looked round to where Obelix lay slumped. Next to him, his fiancée knelt, not to Obelix, but to her Numidian friend from the theatre. "Hey, shaman." She was patting the man's cheek. "Hey. Wake up, I want to ask you something." Before Vitalstatistix's eyes, she knelt and drew the Numidian's head into her lap. "Caius. Caius Insidius," she kept talking. "I misjudged you. Come on. Open your eyes."

Vitalstatistix blushed. It seemed as though Obelix's fiancée was as fickle as he'd always been told Roman women were.

"Are you seeing what I'm seeing?" Impedimenta whispered.

"Now's not the time," Vitalstatistix whispered back. "We need to calm the others down. They're worried about their children." He barreled on, knowing the only way to calm Impedimenta down was to give her a difficult task. "What can we do that will keep them busy until the carts arrive?"

She thought for a moment. Like Vitalstatistix, she knew that villagers on the potion needed things to occupy them, or else they didn't take well to waiting. Especially with the additional strain of being worried about their children. "I think a good thing to do would be to divide them up into teams. One to forage for food – we'll need a good meal when all this is over – and one to cook it. We can use the empty cauldron from the potion. One can get to work making an extra cart for the food we've cooked, so we can immediately give the children supper when we get home, and one to find any extra horses left behind by the Romans to pull it."

It was only the fact that she'd been backstage in a big production that allowed Latraviata to keep up relative calm in the tizzy—there was no other word for it—that followed. Faster than she could have imagined, a cart was built, soup was made and handed out, and boar roasted. Scarcely had that been done when carts clattered up, drawn by horses and rather energetic oxen she rather suspected had had a sip of potion. The villagers loaded everything up in record time, including themselves, and Obelix, who was still only half-awake. Latraviata found herself shoved up next to Obelix, Caius Insidius staying close to her, clearly uneasy at his new status as an honorary villager for the duration. She laid a hand on his shoulder. "Little worm you may be," she smiled down at him, "but you've done well, Dream-Whisperer."

His gaze flickered up to her. He seemed still guilty and preoccupied, but the lines on his face softened a little at her encouragement. "Thank you," he said humbly.

Impedimenta glared.

The night seemed to never end, but finally they were all settled. The parents went home to their children. The three participants in the dream-ritual bedded down at Getafix's so he could keep an eye on them. Cacofonix was judged well enough to go home, but was bullied by Fulliautomatix into spending the night at the smithy. ("That's all we need, having you fall off that dangerous staircase because of blood loss. And then we'd have to patch you up again. Here. Is this soft enough? Good. Take this pillow. And this one, too. That blanket's not enough, you've been hurt. Cover up warmly, and don't argue. O by Belenos, let me do it. Hold still while I tuck the covers in. That should keep you warm enough. One peep out of you and you'll regret it, got that?") Obelix's fiancée stayed at his empty hut, propriety preserved since her future husband was sleeping at the druid's. And the druid, having settled the invalids in, tumbled into his own bed for some well-earned rest.

Vitalstatistix, though exhausted, stood at his window, staring out at the half-ruined streets of the village. So close. It had been so close this time. He could see the remnants of discarded pottery in the street where someone had been startled by fire or attack. Not far off, Unhygienix's fish stood rotting—although, admittedly, the stench wasn't that much different from usual—and the foundry opposite stood closed and cold. Smoke was only just starting to rise from the roofs of those who had started a fire in the hearth, but most of the huts were darkened, as though the village was deserted. It was driven home again to him what he tried to avoid thinking about: how fragile it all was.

Impedimenta came up to stand beside him, in her nightdress and bare feet. Her hair was bound up in a scarf. Wordlessly, she handed him his nightcap. "You should get some sleep," she muttered. Her usual bossy tone was gone. She sounded shaken too.

He put his arm round her and she leaned into him as she had when they were courting. They stood there for a while, drawing strength from each other. "We can get the village cleaned up in the morning," Impedimenta went on. "We ought to have a banquet in honor of that Numidian thespian who saved Asterix's life."

It was a measure of how upset Impedimenta was that she wanted to have a banquet. She was usually dead against them. Well, unless there was a special occasion. "Perhaps we should wait a day or so," he said softly. "Obelix was still pretty banged up when we got here."

She shuddered against him. There wasn't a villager who didn't realize how precarious their situation was when the normally invulnerable Obelix was hurt. "That was a charitable thing he did for Asterix," murmured Impedimenta, looking out of the window in the direction of the druid's hut.

"It was more than charitable. It was positively self-sacrificing," Vitalstatistix responded. "I thought he was a false friend. I'm glad to be proved wrong."

"He has a good heart," nodded Impedimenta. "He deserves better than that hussy, fawning all over her actor friend."

Vitalstatistix found himself smiling. If Impedimenta still had the strength to gossip after all that had come to pass, then all was right with the world. "Yes, dear."