The day was slowly approaching evening, the sun still lingering on the horizon. I stared up at the sky and wondered how the kidnapped children were doing. I sighed and had to accept that there was nothing at present I could do about it.

I knew I would have to face those responsible alone, and I also knew that I might not survive that encounter. It was something I had come to accept.

I was shaken from my gloomy thoughts when a villager brushed past me, making me take in my surroundings once more. Even though there were not that many cottages in the village, there were a lot of people gathered in the center of it all of a sudden.

Colorful garlands had been strung up among the oak trees that grew between houses, and most of the women were dressed in very colorful dresses in bright colors. A cooking station served roasted boars and some kind of sweet pastry with cream on top that Obelix was quick to get his large share of.

One of the women passing me by saw me and grinned sharply, like she knew who I was. She said something to me that I couldn't quite understand in spanish, and then placed a pale blue flower behind my ear. que hermoso caballo salvaje.

I blinked and merely stared after her, not knowing how to respond to that.

Unlike the last time we were offered food at the other village, I actually ate the food – I was hungry beyond belief. The boar had been seasoned with tomatoes and other, sharper spices that burned my tongue – but it wasn't bad at all. I stopped myself short of licking my fingers clean when I was done – unlike some in my presence who was eating like a pig as per usual.

Asterix was still nowhere to be seen as the foretold dancing competition started – one of the female villagers had sat down close to me and Obelix on the grass, explaining what was going on to us who couldn't understand the language.

"The women compete in who can perform flamenco to perfection – to elicit joy in their audience. " she said and I leaned forward so I could hear her better over the din of people talking and laughing around us. Two men with guitars took a spot at the center of the crowd, getting ready to play.

"What does that word mean?" I asked, and the woman smiled in a secretive way.

"It is fire – it is a dance of strong emotions – watch and you will see."

A young woman stepped forward into the center – where there was a large flat stone slab on the ground, a sort of pedestal to stand on. She jumped up on it and began to dance – moving her feet rhythmically, inching her long skirt up in an almost seductive manner. It was not so much her dancing to the music that the band was playing – the dancer and the music seemed to be dependant on each other, the guitarist speeding up whenever the young woman moved faster. People around us whopped and cheered as she finished, and another one took her place.

It was interesting to watch and the music was catchy, but I still didn't really see this "fire" the villager had talked about.

The competition lasted for a long time, and I was about to call it quits and hobble over to our designated cottage to stay the night in when there was a sudden hush among the crowd. The music had stopped as well, and I saw a woman – a bit older than the others in the competition, making her way through the throng of people. She was different from the others – her features sharper, her dress simpler. People got out of the way as she drew near, if it was out of respect or fear was unclear.

When she moved into the center, I could see that she bore a strange scar around her throat – like she had survived a horrific accident. The vivid, red mark against her neck did not however distract from the intensity of her eyes – dark and soulful as she gazed around at the villagers. When she started dancing, she did not give the band any chance to keep up.

The dancers before now had all expressed happiness and joy in their dancing – laughing along with the audience, inviting whoever to join in. This woman moved like every step was sacred, like it was printed upon her heart. Her whole body, not just her feet, moved in a sinuous, almost instinctive fashion. Her hands shook and her expression was almost painful at times.

But, occasionally she moved her arms above and around herself – and this, for some reason, struck me to the core. Why did it seem so familiar? I know this, I know this.

Without really aware of what I was doing, I slowly stood up and started mimicking her hands, the gestures she was making. Sharp, aware – she saw what I was doing and continued watching me as we danced. Our gestures were becoming a mirror image of what the other was doing. Before long, I could match her, and it strangely felt like I was going through the motions of something I had already learned.

I can feel the fire in my hands.

I craned my neck, my body to the left and the woman followed. I lifted my arms, my hands shaking as if trying to get away from an imaginary foe, only to let them fall and draw patterns across my body and away from me. I turned and she turned, like twin cusps of wind. We lowered our bodies in an almost fighting stance, only to slowly rise again, stomping our feet in time with the beat of the music before we whipped around each other – dark hair flashing against the setting sun. It was a battle and it was not – it was a sparring match, where no winner is really to be had.

The movements of our hands got slower, moving through the air around us like we were painting smoke with our fingers.

Before I knew it, we were bowing to each other, both of us panting, out of breath. A stunned silence reigned around us before someone started clapping – then soon enough everyone was cheering extremely loudly. People came up to me and patted me on the back, shouting brava, brava! De nuevo! I stood there, sweaty and panting, not really comprehending what had just happened.

It was then that I saw, beyond the large crowd, a familiar figure leaning against one of the oak trees. I was surprised to see that it was Asterix, and I realized that he must have been watching the whole thing. My eyes were wide as I openly stared at him, and he seemed similarly stunned. Like he was truly seeing me for the first time.

Then he did something I never imagined he would – he lifted his hands and started clapping.