Asterix, Obelix, the village and all it's inhabitants, the roman camps and their centurions, Julius Caesar and the world known in 50 B.C as it is described here…. hec this entire universe belongs to Albert Uderzo and Réné Goscinny. Except for Phyllis and her friends, who were born from my imagination. And Goliath, who belongs to my memories.
Asterix found he could not fall asleep that night, something that rarely happened to him. He was a warrior. Officially this meant he was sent into battle when necessary. Just like all the other male villagers. But different from them, Asterix was still a warrior outside these battles. He was supposed to see trouble before it arrived, and avoid it from arriving at the village. He was supposed to help Vitalstatistix decide whether battle was wise or not.
He was not a guard. He was not supposed to stand in front of the village gates at night. But something told him that the trouble he sensed now would not politely knock on the main entrance of their little village before it arrived. Asterix had informed Getafix of their encounter with the stranger in the forest and maybe it was enough for now. Maybe it was all he could do for now. Maybe Getafix already told Manilla and she had given him a satisfying explanation. Maybe. Asterix did not like maybe's. But if Manilla had come to them for a reason, not just a leisurely visit, she might not be able to handle the threat this stranger formed. Yes, he was a threat, that was crystal clear to Asterix. Just as peace and calm radiated from Bonny, the man in the forest had radiated silent threats. With this in mind, it was just impossible to find sleep. So Asterix left his bed and a snoring Obelix behind – after such a feast, Obelix would definitely not be in the mood for a night-time stroll – and stepped into the night. Armed with his sword and his gourd, and ill-disguised with his winged helmet. He knew he would not blend into the night with his helmet, the vibrantly white wings stood out like a beacon in the dark. He was immediately recognizable. Which was handy to make a statement to romans, whose immediate reaction would be to run and hide and to not stick their noses where they didn't belong. But not to sneak around.
Asterix was not planning anything big or secretive though. Just to make one tour around the village walls, and the outline of the forest and the coast while he was at it. To convince himself that everything looked as it was supposed to. Cacofonix had the best overview of the village, but he was never really on the lookout for anything other than inspiration.
Asterix avoided the main entrance and the guards, who he did not want to alert. He just moved a few wooden poles aside (having a gourd of magic potion, could come in quite handy at times like these) and got out at the back of the village. The sky was clear and lighted by uncountable stars. But fog was rising from the grass that bordered the village, as it often does at the end of the summer, when the days are still warm, but the nights quite cool. It made his surroundings a little hazy. Spooky maybe, if you were sensitive to that, which Asterix wasn't. The only thing that crossed his mind was that he would not be easily noticed. An advantage of his limited height, even when you counted his helmet.
He started to walk around the village, listening intently. But he heard only the sounds of nature and the sleeping village. Owls, squirrels, the rush of the sea, one or two especially loud snorers (poor wives). The wind blew softly through the leaves that would soon start to yellow. Everything was at it was supposed to be. Not a soul to disturb the peace. Although they were surrounded by roman camps, those chaps knew better than to patrol at night. But of course, Asterix was not looking for them anyway. Was he looking for the old man he met in the forest? Somehow he doubted this man would need to sneak around at night, and if he did, Asterix was almost sure he would not be able to catch him doing it. He did not doubt his abilities as a warrior, but he díd doubt his alleged invincibility. Especially after today.
After walking around the village twice without noticing even the slightest thing out of the ordinary, Asterix returned to his hut. He was right. The stranger, who would become known to him tomorrow by the name of Mesmeron, was not watching him tonight. But someone else was lurking in the shadows, watching his every move. A small figure, who had glided silently from tree to tree as he walked, appearing and disappearing from sight but never truly visible. The shadow studied his actions and tried to calculate his next move, wondering on a side note what mysterious power made the wings on his helmet move as if they were part of him. There was a time, somewhere in a past that fainted by the day, that this side-note would have been formed into a question, voiced out loud. Which would no doubt have startled Asterix in his present mood. But curiosity tends to kill the cat, and the figure felt it could not afford to feel any less alive. So the question remained unspoken, and as soon as Asterix went back to his hut, the figure retreated into the darkness of the forest.