I do not own Asterix, or anything related to it. I do not write for profit, only for my (and other people's) enjoyment. ENJOY!

This story is now in the process of being rewritten. None of the story has changed, I am simply adding to it, because my writing has improved since I wrote this, and I honestly wanted to try to do this story justice. ;) Whenever a chapter has been rewritten I will write "Rewritten" at the bottom of the page. ;)

The night in the forest was dark and quiet. The only thing to be heard for miles was the soft chirping of crickets and the hum of other bugs in the grassy thickets. No birds cried out, for it was still far too early, but they would soon be gracing the world with their songs, within the hour perhaps. Shadows spread over the land like a blacket, a dark, blue shroud, studded with stars that were only now just beginning to fade. It covered the forest, and the fields, and sparkled and danced across the smooth sea beyond. And there, beside the waters, it also covered the homes of a small Gaulish village. In it there was no activity or noise, for everyone lay asleep in their beds; no one stirred. Frogs gave a deep thrum every so often, the sound rising up into the deserted streets of the village, playing the nightly music of summer. Everything seemed calm...but, as everyone knows, things aren't always as they seem.

Not far from the Gaul's village, on the fringes of the dark recessess of the cool, fresh forest, many pairs of eyes were watching, waiting in the stillness with barely contained anticipation. Roman soldiers, a half legion strong, hid by cover of the thick leaves and brush. Many were anxious, uncomfortable by their proximity to the aleged Gauls that had caused so much trouble to Rome, and all who had tried to remove them. Those who did not know any better were excited, prepared and ready to fight for the land they believed was rightfully theirs. Rightfully might Caesar's. Their smarter companions merely shook their heads, closing their eyes in silent prayer to the gods that they might survive the coming menuver.

Those of higher rank, after having ensured that their men were quiet and settled for the time being, met within the center of their makeshift camp, in the tent of their commander. The interior was lit by lamplight, just enough to see by, and certainly not enough to give away their presence to any watchful eye that might chance their way. Seated at a low table, gazing feicely at a hand drawn map of the Gaulish village, sat the Roman legion's leader, Commander Spacious.

He was a fat, ugly fellow, of a normal height, whose round face matched his equally round stomach. His nose was far to small for his face, as was his eyes, which burned black as night with a gleam of defient anger which, despite his rarety to rage, always seemed just below the surface. It hid beneath a toothy grin that always gave the impression of glee, but in a sort of way that made you very glad if it was a mood fixed on someone other than yourself. He held himself straight, never slouching, an air of command about him that no soldier dared to question. The Commander had shown up some time ago, with special permission from Caesar himself to try a new weapon against the Gauls, in the hopes of defeating the troublesome lot for good. Spacious had gone from Roman camp to Roman camp, choosing the finest men, until they equalled three thousand men. Despite his enthusiasm, some of his soldiers were far less hopeful. But, of course, no one was willing to say it out loud.

"We shall attack at dawn," the leader spoke calmly, his fingers slowly sliding over the map before him, almost stroking it like some pet under his care. His eyes, however, were fixed on his men, reading their expressions as he continued, his eyes smirking with anticipation. "Before they're even fully awake, we shall send such a shock into their midst as they have ever known. That should do the damage we require to begin our work."

The other Romans smiled happily at the thought, though reality forbid them to enjoy the fantasy too long. Though they had been planning this for weeks, there was still no garentee that it would work. Many had come before this; leagionaries, commanders, spies, and more. Even Caesar himself. Troop after troop had been sent to destroy the indomideable Gauls, and they had all failed time after time. But they could not help but try to believe that it would not happen this time. They were prepared, and strong in number. And with the knowledge of some special weapon that only a select few of them had been allowed to see made the possibility of victory all the more real. Today, that very morning even, perhaps they would be victorious!

"This could finally be their undoing," one Roman whispered, snickering in glee at the thought. He had fought the Gauls of this village many times, and had lost a fair number of teeth because of it. He hated them, and feared them, and the thought of them getting their just desserts was something he craved, like so many of his companions. A smaller, and slightly more battered and dimwitted man beside him gave their Commander a cock of his head.

"Uh...But don't they have this, uh, magic potion, that, uh...makes dem strong?" he asked, his stuttering, unfocused language making him hard to understand. He received a smash on the helmet from his neighbor for even mentioning the acursed substance that had defeated even Caesar himself. The helm jammed down over his eyes, which did nothing to increase his lack of appearance as an intellect. As the soldier struggled to pull the offending item off his head, Spacious outlined their plan to him once again, in that same, calm voice that betrayed no anger.

"That is very simple," he gleamed. "We have been watching this little village for the last four months. Our spies have discovered that these Gauls run short of their prescious potion ingredients every few weeks. After which, their druid goes into the forest to gather more. According to our observations, they should be just about out by now. This means they don't have enough potion to fight us off effectively. We shall attack them before they can restock their supply, and lay siege until they surrender." He smiled crookedly, "They'll be no match for our might."

Another soldier, by the name of Overcatious, spoke up nervously, his teeth clattering loudly despite his efforts to silence them. "W-what about the b-big G-G-Gaul?" He was referring to the Gaul known as Obelix, a great, hulking brute who never ran out of his powerful strenth, at least, as far as anyone knew. The fellow was a monster, a beast who enjoyed battle as though it were nothing more than a game. Feared by every soldier, stories were told of Obelix's power. They told of how a single punch from his fist could send one flying as high as the clouds, before the descent to earth was punctuated by the crash of armored body to ground. So far, no one had died from the encounters, but why tempt fate?

Spacious rolled his eyes in slight annoyance. He had heard stories of this man, but still he was unconcerned. "Shall we say, he will be too busy with other, more pressing matters. We shall strike, and strike hard, but remain out of sight. They will be unable to leave the gates of their own village without facing death, but will be hard pressed to stay within its walls. When hunger drives them out, they will be defeated, at last." He gave an evil laugh, and the others joined in nervously. "Ready the catapult."

In the flurry of activity that filled the tent as the handful of soldiers left in a hurry to do the Cammander's bidding. Soon, the tent was empty, but for the superior himself, who was still running his fingers over the crudely made map, raking his nails over the surface as though it would somehow damage the real thing it represented. Spacious stood there, smiling wickedly in anticipation. Before long, he would be giving the command he had so longed to give.

"Sleep well, Gauls. While you can."

Cacofonix stood proudly in the center of his beloved village, before all his friends and neighbors who surounded him in a croud so eager to see and hear him. His voice, so strong and sweet, drifted up around them as he sang in a beautiful voice, while the villagers looked on in awe. It was like the shifting sounds of sping, so soft and gentle, so that all who heard the melodous tones couldn't help but smile in joy.

"How did you ever get such an amazing voice, Cacofonix?" Unhygienix and Fulliautomatix asked in unison, their hands raised in surprise, rather than the blows the bard knew so well. Cacofonix smiled, enraptured in the moment. It was wonderful. Freeing. Calming. Everything his life had never been before, except whenever he sang. He had tried to share it so many times, only to be told of its worthlessness. But now -Oh now!- how they loved his singing! It filled him with a peace and warmth he wasn't sure he had ever known...But sadly, it was not to last.

Quite suddenly, the sky began to glow a brilliant red, the hue of flowing blood. Fire seemed to shoot out all around the village, licking toward the crowd as screams filled the air, panicked Gauls fleeing left and right. All at once, Cacofonix felt like the walls of the village he loved, his safe haven, were closing in on him, like a monster threatening to engulf him. Trying to choke the life from him. He tried to cry out, but his mouth felt dry and he couldn't utter a word. A great shadow started to spread slowly across the ground toward him, claws of black that reached and reached. He wanted to run, to go anywhere but stay there, but his legs felt weak and useless, they wouldn't obey him. The terrible, raging shadow came closer and closer, until suddenly he was plunged into complete and total darkness...

"AH!"

THUMP!

With a low, hard thud, Cacofonix, the Gaulish bard, fell out of nest-like bed with a wild yelp. He lay upon the wooden floor boards of his tree cottage, legs tangled in the sheets and blankets above him, still partially on the bed, while his head and lower body resided on the ground. Breathing heavily, chest rising and falling in fast, desperate gulps of air, he waited dizzily for his heart to slow down from its galloping beat. Disoriented, and with his mind's eye still reeling from the images of the nightmare, he tried to get his eyes to refocus on reality, but it wasn't easy.

This is the sixth night in a row! he thought with a mental shudder, shakily detaching himself from the sheets when he felt sufficiently calm enough to do so. It was true. Every night the dream returned, bringing with it the first appealing breaths of wonder, and then the fear-ridden grips of horror. It had been bad before, but this time it had been more vivid, more real. He shivered. More terrifying.

These dreams were really starting to get on the poor bard's frayed nerves, and it was really beginning to show. He could recall several people requiring about his health the day before. He had started feeling tired, even in the early morning, wanting nothing more than sleep. But when it came time to do so, it was only a fractured, uneasy rest. He was beginning to be afraid of going to bed at night at all, as the dreams worsened, becoming more heartrendingly painful to live through, night after night. Despite his distress, he had told no one, not even Gatafix, who, as the village druid, might have been able to do something about it. They'd probably only laugh at him, anyway. After all, who ever got sick over a series of silly nightmares? It was, after all, only a dream. A terrible, horrid, life shattering vision that continued to haunt him, even during the day. He couldn't stop thinking about it. It mixed his greatest wish and his greatest fear all into one long, swirling haze of confusion. It made it hard to think, or sing, or play, though he had tried. He just couldn't concentrate. And worst of all, no one seemed to care.

Cacofonix felt a sad tug at his heart. He knew they didn't mean anything by it, and it wasn't like he had ever told them how it made him feel, but the villagers always treated him...well, with impatience. His singing was often received with groans and a sharp thump to the head. Either that or they tied him to a tree. And it wasn't just that. His advice and opinions were always overlooked, cast aside and considered worthless, or, at least, that's how it felt sometimes. He was the village bard, for goodness sake! What else would they expect him to do? Why didn't they appreciate him?

Cacofonix sighed, running a still slightly shaky hand through his blond hair. He was overthinking things. He was exhausted. He hadn't had a good night's sleep in almost a full weak. It was making everything out to be far more upsetting than he normally would have found it. He knew the others didn't care for his singing, but despite all the jokes, and roughing up, and angry insults, he knew he could never leave them. They were his friends, no matter how they treated him. And Cacofonix knew, deep down, that they cared for him, even when he was to emotionally sensitive to see it. At least, he hoped they did.

Knowing from experience that he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep after the dream, Cacofonix tiredly pulled a woolen blanket from his bed, wrapping it and its warmth around himself. With a sense of aimless wandering, he walked slowly out the door of his tree cottage, onto the wooden platform. The air was colder than usual, especially for summer, but he didn't mind. With the blanket he was really pretty comfortable. He smiled as he glanced down at the other huts, bound close to the solid earth below. His home was the only one of it's kind, that he could think of, and he loved it dearly. It provided such a beautiful view, both of the village and the world stretching in all directions beyond it. To the North, the sea stretched like a sparkling, blue mirror, and to the South nothing but ongoing carpets of trees and glens, rolling gently into the distance. From his vantage point the bard saw that the sun was just beginning to rise, as a faint glow appeared in the East. The sound of chirps and squawks in the forest heralded the awakening of the birds as they flew from their nests to start their day, searching for insects in the Gualish soil.

As the Gaul's eyes roved gently over the landscape, something unusual caught his attention. A movement, far too large for the time of day. Far to large for any time of day. Unsure and curious as to what it was, Cacofonix shifted carefully along the platform, right up to the very edge, so he could have a closer look. He narrowed his eyes, trying to focus. His vision was still hazed from what little sleep he had gotten, blurred by the sleep he had not. He stood like that for a moment, gazing toward the fringe of the forest facing the village gates. At first, he saw nothing. But then, again something moved. The bard's eyes widened as the object, which was even larger than he had thought, came into view. The bard suddenly leaped back with a startled look on his face, letting the blanket drop from his shoulders as he turned to run for the spiral staircase that led to the ground.

He heard a sound, a great snap and a whoosh that he recognized all too well. "Oh no!" was the only thing he could manage, just before something huge and covered in roaring flames slammed into the side of his tree, nearly level with the platform.

Unhygienix awoke to the sound of a terrible bang, so strong it very nearly shook him from his bed. That, in turn, was followed by an explosion that shook the entire village like an earthquake. Throwing the blankets off himself, the portly fishmonger stumbled out of bed, running unsteadily to his cottage door, still slightly encumbered by sleep. Behind him he could hear his wife, Bacteria, wailing in fear as she too got up, her motherly instinct prompting her to run for the room their two sons slept in rather than the door or window.

"Unhygienix! What's happening!" she shrilled, her two boys having found her, clinging to her nightclothes, eyes wide in fear.

"I don't know!" he yelled back, finally making it to the door and flinging it open. "But I'll-" He broke off as his eyes took in the very last thing he had pictured in his mind. He hadn't even been sure what he would see. And, in truth, he had been more curious than worried. Usually, explosions meant that Getafix was exploring some new concoction or other, but the druid usually had the sense to do so outside and away from the village. And he certainly had the sense to not do so at night, when they were all trying to sleep. That was why Unhygienix had been curious. But now, as he gazed around at the confusing sight before him in growing shock, he was far more than worried.

The entire village was aglow with the intense, hot light of a raging fire. He recognized the sound and warmth, the crackle of burning timber, though he couldn't yet see the fire itself. Shadows, dark and long, danced away as smoke lifted up and away, blocking out what had been a beautiful, starry night. If had been a barn or stable, it wouldn't have been so bad, but the direction the light was coming, and the small bits of raining ash, still alight, told the fishmonger a very different story. With a cry of fear, Unhygienix rushed outside, turning as he exited to look upward at the tree hut that towered above his own cottage. That was when true terror gripped him. Cacofonix's tree was nearly engulfed in a burning inferno of flame and smoke. Branches, and leaves curled, being slowly consumed by the licking heat, filling the air with the smell of strong oak. Villagers, racing out of their homes, joined Unhygienix, all staring up in a panic, mindful of the falling embers.

Realizing the emergency of the situation, Unhygienix ran back inside and grabbed his wife and sons, hurrying them out of harms way, fearing that at any moment their home would catch fire as well. Every other man in the village did the same, bringing their families to the far corner of the village away from the bard's tree, for fear that the flames might spread. Once the woman and children were safe, the men quickly turned and ran back to the base of the burning tree, hoping with all their beings that there would be something they could do to stop the flames. Unhygienix found himself running alongside Fulliautomatix. The blacksmith looked terrified and bedraggled, also having jumped out of bed from a sound sleep, but he was far from angry. The crowd of Gauls made it back to the tree house as if began creaking and groaning as the heat began eating away at its stability.

Getafix was already there, his face pale with worry as he gazed upward, eyes aglow with the reflection of bright yellow flames. "Cacofonix!" he cried desperately, looking up to the burning structure with a fading hope. Everyone strained their eyes against the glare, praying the bard would appear. But he didn't. They began to feel panic well up inside them, as their worry for their friend grew to a barely controllable height. They all started shouting their friend's name, but still no answer came.

"That's it!" Asterix yelled above the noise, having come and joined the crowd the minute he had been awoken by all the noise. He had a tendency to sense when things weren't quite right, and his sleep had become restless. He had almost felt the need to get up before the explosion had sounded, and hearing the sound itself had been enough to send him racing out of door all his nightclothes, as had everyone else. "That's it! I'm going up there!" Bracing himself, Asterix carefully tested the first rung of the spiral staircase of the tree hut, before he started to climb the steps with Obelix right behind him. But as the larger Gaul began to follow, the tree creaked dangerously beneath his weight. Everyone flinched.

Asterix breathed a sigh of relief when nothing happened. He looked over his shoulder, giving his friend an apologetic look, the grateful but saddened gaze told of his deep regret. "I'm sorry, Obelix, but I'm afraid your just too much for this structure to hold right now." Which was really too bad. Asterix would have much rather of had his closest friend beside him during something like this. But that really couldn't be helped.

Obelix blinked, the realization that he couldn't follow slowly sinking in, filling him with a sense or worried frustration. Muttering huffily under his breath as he stepped down and off the steps, he moved aside, watching his friend head into danger without him. Asterix turned to carry on alone, but when he felt a hand on his shoulder, he swung back around. He was met with the grim faces of Unhygienix and Fulliautomatix, who had come up behind him, looking very anxious. They didn't have to say anything, Asterix already knew what their unspoken request was, and he appreciated it. With a nod, Asterix began the ascent once more, minding the falling embers and burning wood that fell around them. Behind him, Unhygienix and Fulliautomatix followed, up to the smoldering tree cottage so far above the village.

Cacofonix coughed, dragging himself forward with great difficulty. He wanted more than anything to rise to his feet, but some parts of his body felt numb, and they wouldn't respond to his commands to work. His mind was hazed, unfocused and frightened. He wasn't completely aware of just how much danger he was in, or even what had happened, but he knew that he needed to move. He needed to get out.

When the ball of fire had hit, he had been sent flying, the shock and strength of the impact sending him crashing right through the window of his cottage, rather than being thrown from the platform to the ground below. But he wasn't safe. The roof crackled and burned as it began to succumb to the blaze now set upon it. Cacofonix vaguely felt the tree shudder, shaking under its slowly consumed weight. The bard tried again to raise to his feet, but only felt pain shoot up his side and all over his body when he did so. He must have broke something. The smoke hurt his eyes and throat, and made it hard to breath, filling his lungs with burning smoke. He couldn't tell which direction the door was in, even if he could make it there.

"Cacofonix!" A voice, barely heard over the roaring flames. It sounded far away, but the bard heard it. He fixed his focus upon it, not caring about anything else. It was the lifeline he needed so badly, and he clung to the small hope it gave him, trying to utter some sort of response. But whenever the bard opened his mouth to answer, no sound came out. No words, anyway, at least in the understandable sense. The foul air entering his lungs was released in a rush as he was launched into a violent fit of heavy coughing. His eyes slammed shut at each wracking cough, watering when each gasp burned his throat more. Painful as it was, it was perhaps the best thing that could have happened to the him.

"Did you hear that?" Asterix asked hurriedly, his head swinging from side to side as he gazed in through the door into the burning cottage. He was breathing into his shirt to keep the smoke from entering his body, knowing that if he and the others fell unconscious, there would be no time for someone to rescue them. The other two Gauls had stopped in their tracks at his words, ears strained as they tried to pick up any sounds of life. All three were standing at the entrance to the burning tree cottage, gazing in fear at the blazing room within. The heat was frightful, causing the interior to waver and dance; at least, that which was visible through the smoke.

Unhygienix and Fulliautomatix listened carefully, straining their sight and their hearing, praying that the three of them were not too late to help their friend. The sound of roaring flames and crackling wood was tremendous, blocking out any chance of detecting any other noise. At least, at first. Something broke out, through the debris and ash, and after a moment they realized it was the sound of sharp, desperate coughing.

"I hear him!" Unhygienix cried, taking a worried step forward, though not passing Asterix, waiting to be told a plan despite his fear. "But I can't tell from where!"

Asterix began shifting forward, his feet tapping the floor carefully in front of himself, testing the wood. Most of the floor hadn't caught fire yet, but the roof was disintegrating very quickly. Some of the larger beams had already fallen down inside, still flaming. "Spread out and make your way to a section of the house!" Asterix yelled over the noise. "Unhygienix, you go left, I'll take the middle, and you, Fulliautomatix, you take the right. Keep an eye open for him, and be careful!" Asterix moved forward, determined to find the bard before there was no reason to. The other two Gauls did as they were told, following his example.

Carefully making his way under a fallen beam, mindful not to let the burning material touch him or his clothes, Fulliautomatix started to pick his way to the right side of the smoke shrouded cottage. His stomach turned as he felt the structure beneath him sway slightly, as though he were standing on the deck of ship. It was growing worse, and it was all he could do to keep his nerves from driving him to run for safety. They needed to find Cacofonix, and fast!

The sound of coughing erupted right in front of him, and with an adreniline filled rush Fulliautomatix stumbled forward through the gathering haze. He couldn't see a thing. The smoke was even worse on this part of the hut, filling it from floor to cieling with choking, burning, black fog. His feet brushed against something soft and moveable, and the blacksmith quickly fell to his feet, looking worriedly over his friend. The sight before him caused his heart to melt.

The bard lay on his side, arms clutched around his chest tightly as his body shook with each cough and gasp. He seemed pretty out of it, not even fully conscious enough to realize he had been found. His clothing was torn and burned, and a heavy looking beam had fallen on one of his legs. Cacofonix's breathing was rough and ragged, making a sound almost just as terrible as the gasping and coughing. Fullatomatix knelt down beside the bard, trying to sooth his friend with a gentle hand on Cacofonix's shoulder as the blacksmith began calling out to the other two Gauls.

"I found him! He's over here! He's-!"

The blacksmith jumped in surprise, cutting his call short when the bard suddenly latched onto his arm with both hands. His grip was stronger then Fulliautomatix would have thought. Looking into his friend's wide eyes, Fulliautomatix understood for the first time just how frightened the bard truly was. He was terrified. The bard was shaking uncontrollably, body held tight and stiff. The blacksmith realized that Cacofonix would be unable to get up on his own, and that he was going to need help. While allowing Cacofonix to keep his grip on his right arm, Fulliautomatix reached with his left, and, after a few tries, managed the shift the bard's leg out from under the beam. Easing Cacofonix into a sitting position, Fulliautomatix was greeted by a hiss of pain and a small whimper. And the blacksmith couldn't blame the smaller man for a second. On the bard's left side was a dreadful burn spot, not only on the clothing, but on the skin as well, which showed through the rips and tears. It was mostly black, charred and dirty, but a slight red blotch confirmed it was more then a slight scorch. There was blood.

Asterix and Unhygienix appeared beside the blacksmith after what felt like an eternity, but was actually only a few minutes. Taking in Cacofonix's condition at a glance, Asterix moved to lay his hand against the struggling Gaul's back, if only to give the bard reasurance.

"Can he walk?" the warrior asked worriedly, feeling the tree house rock dangerously, along with the heaving breaths of their friend.

"I-I don't think so," Fulliautomatix replied, still greatly unnerved by the bard's desperate grip wringing the life from his hand. It was as though Cacofonix was afraid they'd leave him behind, the way he was hanging on so very tightly. And yet, he could not get a look at the bard's face, where he would truly have been able to read Cacofonix. Their friend's head seemed to heavy for the bard to lift. It was all he could do to keep the air going in and out of his lungs without suffocating him.

"Then we'll have to carry him," Asterix replied, assisting in pulling Cacofonix to his feet. The bard stumbled, and Unhygienix quickly took Asterix's place, nodding for the warrior to lead the way down to safety. The bard was a dead weight as he leaned limply against them, still not seeming to realize they were with him.

Crack!

The three rescuers glanced up fearfully as the roof timbers began to give way. The tree was crumbling bit by bit. One wall had fallen, all the way to the ground outside, leaving one section of the cottage completely open.

"This structure isn't going to last much longer!" Unhygienix cried over the noise, shouting to be heard. "We need to leave, now!"

Between the three of them, they managed to steady Cacofonix and half carry-half drag him out the hole onto the open platform. Cool air brushed against their faces a moment before it was smothered by the flames spreading at their backs. Many of the planks that made up the platform were missing, eaten by the consuming fire, and many more were unsafe to step on at this point, black and charred by flame. Treading carefully, Asterix led the way, testing each plank with his foot before standing on it with his full weight, just as he had done on the way in, only now with much more care. Fulliautomatix and Unhygienix followed right behind him, carrying the bard between them, flinching every time Cacofonix gasped or cried out in pain in reaction to their movements. The bard still held firmly onto the blacksmith's arm, frightened and unable to stand on his own. Fulliautomatix did not have the heart to pull his limb away.

Finally, and not without a few close calls, they made it to the winding stairwell that would lead them to the ground below. They could see the crowd of Gaulish men, faces lifted up towards them with looks of worry and fear, as the three, along with their bard, began the slow decent back to earth. A cheer went up from the group below when Cacofonix came into view, each and every one relieved that their friend was alive. Slowly, and rather painfully, they made their way down the spiral staircase, struggling to support the bard and avoid the pieces of burning debris that crumbled and fell all around them. Calls of advice and encouragement made its way up to the rescuers, urging them to hurry and be careful. Suddenly, a loud crackle and a crunch was heard by all, every eye drawn to the might oak before and above them. In terror, everyone looked up as the burning inferno swayed dangerously, as it let out a final warning. It began to fall just as Asterix's feet touched solid earth.

"Back!" yelled the little Gaul, panic evident on his face as he ran toward the Gauls, waving for them to get out of harm's way. "Back, quick! Everybody, run!" All the Gauls took to their heals and ran in all directions as the great tree came crashing down, very narrowly missing Fullautomatox and Unhygienix, who had been slowed down by their burden.

Safe and unharmed, they all stood watching as the fallen oak slowly burned to ashes, wood creeking beneath the intense heat. Fulliautomatix couldn't help but feel a tad bit sad at the tree's fateful end. It had been a rather redeeming quality of the village, a sort of monumental landmark, one might say. Not to mention that Cacofonix loved it dearly. The blacksmith was shaken from his thoughts when the tight grip on his arm suddenly loosened, going slack. The bard in question all at once fell unconscious, slipping downward, Fulliautomatix and Unhygienix barely having time to catch him before he hit the ground.

"Gatafix!" Unhygienix cried, clearly distressed as he fumbled to help lay Cacofonix on the wet, dewy grass. He knelt down at his friend's side, hands hovering over Cacofonix, feeling the need to do something, but not having an idea as to what that might be. The druid was beside them at once, as was the whole village, crowding in, faces filled with worry. The women and children had rejoined the menfolk, having walked closer after the tree had fallen, and they all stood anxiously by as Gatafix examined the village bard carefully, but hurriedly.

"He appears to be badly burned," the druid reported, voice shaking slightly as he carefully brushed his fingers against the black and shredded material on Cacofonix's side. The bard did not react, now completely unconscious of what was happening around him. "But I cannot tell how badly. You two..." Here he pointed to Fulliautomatix and Unhygienix, who practically leaped to attention, willing to do anything to help. "Carry him into my hut. The rest of you, put out that fire before the entire village goes up in flames!"

The fishmonger and the blacksmith gently laid the limp form of their friend on the druid's cot. They stepped back, but didn't leave; figiting nervously as their druid came forward, sitting himself on the side of the cot next to the bard. Gatifix was slowly and carefully working on taking off Cacofonix's shirt, which would have been hard enough with just an unconscious person. But Cacofonix's exposure to the heat and flames, had gained him several nasty burns. The scorched flesh had fused with the material of his tunic, making getting it off far harder, and a lot more painful. The bard may have been unaware of most everything else, but that terrible pain shot through him, and it was visibly felt. Fulliautomatix and Unhygienix flinched and winced whenever the bard reacted to the druid's touch.

"Will...Will he be alright?" Unhygienix asked, eyeing the terrible burn marks that checkered Cacofonix's clothing with worry. It was very rare that anyone in the village got hurt, especially so severely. Many of them weren't even accustomed to seeing injuries of any sort, above a few small cuts and bruises. The sight of one of their own, so harmed and pained, was enough to make the fiahmonger feel ill.

Gatafix was concentrating very hard as he worked to free the blackened material from the bard's charred skin. It was tricky, and not without pain for the thin musician. As his fingers worked, gently pulling the fabrics fibers away, trying not to take the damadged skin with it, he muttered gently in Druidic. It was an old habit, and though he knew that Cacofonix could not understand him, nor perhaps even hear him, each word was one of care and comfort.

"I don't know," the druid replied sagely, breaking out of his native language quite suddenly to answer his friend. He finally managed to dislodge the final piece of cloth from the burns, feeling the bard shudder beneath his touch. Now they could get a better look at the damage, which, now that it was visible, was even more horrific. The bard was badly bruised, and had a series of small, red cuts on his arms and chest, inflamed against his pale skin. The most prominent wound, however, was a monstrous burn on his side. It looked red and terribly irritated, sore and searing, just in appearance. Pieces of singed and melted fabric still clung to it, despite Gatafix's gentle attempt to extract them. The most disturbing thing, however, was the red blotches of both fresh and dried blood that resided within it. It wasn't much, but it was enough to upset Unhygienix and Fulliautomatix's stomachs, and compel them to feel great pity toward their injured friend.

Rising and crossing the room of his hut, Getafix stepped swiftly over to his potions, which residedin an open-front cabinate made of bark and twig. Gatafix slid his searching finger over the labels, carefully selecting a small jar filled with a clear, greenish liquid. Indicating the cauldron over the cottage fireplace, he hurriedly asked Fulliautomatix to fetch some water and a cloth. The Gaul in question jumped forward to obey.

"Now," Gatafix said, as though he were trying to convince himself to perform the task at hand. A look of very serious concentration plastered his face, making him seem far more calm than he felt. He silently signaled Unhygienix to come closer, laying a hand on the fishmonger's shoulder. He knew the Gauls were afraid. Things like this just didn't happen here. Safety had always been something they had taken for granted. Now that one of them had been hurt, that frail illusion had been shattered. "Unhygienix, I'll need you to help me turn him on his side, so I can easily access his wound. Alright?"

The fishmonger nodded dazedly. He shifted to the cotside, following the druid's lead. He reached forward, hands shaking a little, and carefully began to assist the Getafix in shifting the bard onto his right side, so that the burn on his left was facing up. Cacofonix's breath hitched a bit, but other than that there was no response to their action.

"There," Gatafix breathed with grim satisfaction, just as Fulliautomatix arrived back beside them with a bowl of water and an old, rag cloth. Taking the two items, Getafix dipped the tattered fabric into the warm water, positioning himself back on the cot be Cacofonix's side. As he wrung the water out a little, he paused his hand and gave the two conscious Gauls a slightly reluctant glance. "I'm about to clean and dress the wound. He is unconscious, but I have no doubt that this will hurt him a good deal. If he reacts, I will need you to hold him down." He knew it was a lot to ask. Already, the two villagers looked nearly overwhelmed. But this needed to be done, and Getafix knew he could never do it by himself without help.

Nodding numbly, both Fulliautomatix and Unhygienix shifted, getting on either side of the small bed. They bent over a bit, gently resting their hands against the bard's shoulders and arms, feeling cruel as they did so. It seemed so cruel to hold their friemd down, against the pain that was sure to come, but they trusted Getafix. Completely. If he said this was what needed to be done, then they believed him. They rose their eyes, watching the druid as the soaked cloth was finally ready to be used. Gatafix set his mouth in a thin line of determination, and placed the damp cloth against Cacofonix's badly damaged skin. The reaction was strong and immediate. With a strangled gasp, Cacofonix twisted his body in an attempt to escape Gatafix's reach, arching his back and pulling against his friends holds with surprising strength. Fulliautomatix and Unhygienix gripped the bard, surprised by his sudden violent motions, before they buckled down and held him firmly. The druid continued to cleanse the injury until every trace and possibility of infection was gone. Cacofonix continued to struggle, throughout the whole ordeal, gasping and squirming, though it certainly wasn't his fault. He was only half conscious, and had no idea why he was in such agony. His instinct was to simply fight it.

After what seemed like an eternity, the wound was clean to Gatafix's satisfaction. Cacofonix had stopped squirming as soon as he felt the druid remove the cloth, and simply lay on his side, quivering slightly, and trying to regain his senses more fully. His breath came in quick, short gasps, ragged and strained as his eyes slowly began to focus. It tooka moment or two before he was fully conscious, and his gaze fixed up at Fulliautomatix with a weak, pleading stare, seemingly trying to understand what had happened. It made the blacksmith's heart twist in his chest to see such confusion.

Gatafix carefully leaned into the bard's line of vision, speaking gently as he lay a soothing hand on the bard's bare shoulder, frowning when the contact made Cacofonix shiver. "I'm sorry, Cacofonix, but you have been injured. Your wound needed to be cleaned, and though it was painful, I believe it now to be safe from infection." He gave the bard an apologetic look. "I'm afraid I must ask you to endure a little more so that I can wrap it, as well as check you for other injuries." Cacofonix looked up at him with an unfocused expression, but he nodded weakly, letting the druid know that he had understood.

The druid wrapped the burn as carefully as he could, but even then it took all the bard's remaining strength to keep from pulling away. While still confused and pained, he appeared to understand that they were only trying to help him, and so struggled not to fight against their aid. But it wasn't easy. It felt as though his side was still being engulfed in flame, burning and stinging terribly. When the druid finally finished the wrapping, Cacofonix fell limp against the mattress, thoroughly exhausted, and just barely conscience. He remained that way as Gatafix slowly began to inspect and treat the bard's other various injuries. He washed the smaller cuts and bruises, wiped away the soot, and tried to check the musician's lungs by listening to his breathing, which was still short and raspy. As he worked, he noticed Cacofonix's eyes slowly beginning to close. Before long, the bard was asleep. A feverish sleep, but sleep none the less. Working gently, Getafix continued. When he finished his examination, Gatafix stood and stepped back with a worried sigh.

"He's lucky to be alive," he intoned lowly, a hint of wonder to his voice. It caused the other two Gaul's hearts to falter. "He has multiple bruises and cuts, a broken ankle, and, as far as I can detect, a concussion. He is burned in several places, the worst being the one on his side..." He paused abruptly, hesitating to finish as he struggled with the emotions stirring deep within him. "He...He also breathed in a frighteningly large amount of smoke, which has caused some damage to his lungs...and his throat."

Fulliautomatix felt a terrible dread slip into his mind, prompting him to ask, "W-What does that mean?"

Gatafix sighed again, looking down on the injured form on his cot with sad regret. "It means," he said slowly, "that Cacofonix may have lost his voice...permanently. He may never be able to speak, or sing, again."

This chapter has been rewritten as of 2/8/2016.