Asterix-Village

“Say, Panoramix. Are we going to be alright?” The shadow that has spoken crouches nearby, at the edge of the druid’s field of vision. Panoramix doesn’t follow much of its movements; as it usually happens, he is too engrossed in his work to turn around. Brewing the potion is a sacred ritual – it leaves just enough room to see a bent head, downward and pensive, and catch the light swing of dangling legs. A moment later, he must devote the whole of his attention to the cauldron again. Nimble fingers cut the perfect dose of fennel to smithereens, to drop it in the broth like a thick green dust. His eyes do not move;