There was always enough time in a day for Igor to go fishing. After he had hauled out his skiff and attached it to his trucks trailer, he began the 45 minute journey to Emerson Lake. Fall fishing was his favorite time to be out on the water. There was that familiar crispness that awoke a calm yet uplifting spirit in him. With it's frosty breeze whipping across his face Emerson Lake was able to instill all the feelings of vivacity that Igor had thought were gone. Despite the loss of his longtime fishing buddy, Georgios, Igor had worked up the strength to continue on since his friends death seven years earlier. After Giorgios' passing a season of apathy descended upon his interests. Fishing had become synonymous with his friend and the very thought of pulling his skiff out from the side of his house never entered his mind. That was until he met Frederick the French Leprechaun. Frederick was not a real leprechaun. He would have to be Irish to be one yet he was tiny. Very tiny. At 4'6 and with a beret of soft orange this Frenchman was kind and sweeter to his fellow man than a chocolate eclair. Famous for his suits of shocking red and purple Frederick instantly became a hit in the quiet town of Postus. But Frederick did not suddenly appear in this quiet section of Ohio for social reasons. Through miniature radar he had learned of Igor's absence from Emerson Lake. In order to understand the emergence of Frederick you have to believe that in life there is order. Even chaos has its own chaotic order which rides itself out in waves of destruction until a gentle tide sways back in to restore flow. Frederick was one of those special people who restored balance to the lives of those who thought they lost their way. With a cross town ride on his scooter the Frenchman was knocking ferociously upon Igor's door on a cold morning in early October.