Day-Lynx (EDITING)

Six Incoming Bottles of Fizzles

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After waving his lantern around, Rozell spots the peg where the town's small vessel is usually tied. But there's neither rope nor vessels during winter. While he touches the frozen lake, his other hand lifts the lantern. Underneath, a curious vermilion-spotted fish glances at the light before slyly darting away.

Well, the lake's surface is clear; it's safe to walk on.

With his eyes set upon the glittery little town, Rozell takes his first step. His boots' squeaks make his heart pound even harder. And his creaking lantern also doesn't help.

What if the ice breaks under me? Is it possible for the lantern to set this frozen lake on fire?

Rozell clutches his satchel tighter as his steps quicken. The slightest of sounds, even a distant crack, always make him jump out of his skin. The hustling wind also tries to throw him off-balance several times, but the gods must have mercy on him today for his boots can always find a firm footing.

Once he reaches the port at the edge of the town, which is a wooden slab shaped like a table, he collapses down and stretches his legs. His head feels funny like an eel is electrifying him. What's worse is that his limbs are aching more than before.

Rozell focuses on the two tree barks connecting the port to the next slab, which bears the town's guest cottage. His lantern's light can reach the bridging barks farther ahead: the northern ones leading to Avoridge Town, western ones to the fishermen's market, and the eastern ones to another guest cottage.

Why, he ponders as he dusts himself off the wooden slab, do these people use tree barks as roads and bridges? And why did their ancestors build the buildings on the wooden, table-like supports? Why should they establish a town in the middle of a lake? For trout's sake.

Gathering his remaining strength, he trots to the tree barks, balancing his feet on both of them. The barks wobble and grunt under his weight, but they—thank the gods—barely budge. Their edges remain secured in place even after Rozell safely crosses the first path out of many.

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The alluring scent of grilled duck and other poultries slap Rozell's frozen nose awake. Once he eyes his surroundings and meets the glimmers of Avoridge Town, the thumping in his heart recedes. He shoves his lantern into his satchel and wipes the dust and sweat clinging to his sweater while welcoming his growling hunger.

Lining on both his sides is several huts and taverns. The smells of food coming from each of them manage to muffle Rozell's wild schemes of the local display's acceptance to his paintgraphs. People's chatter and laughs bounce against his ears, making his steps giddy.

Avoridge Town only has a few hundreds of people, but their noisiness as a crowd might defeat another town double its size.

Harboring dozens of diners and entertainment stalls, the Main Spice section is the town's most well-known attraction. Some diners even offer menus only found in faraway towns; Avoridge would never have coconuts since they only grow in places the sun favors all year.

He only hasn't visited for a year, yet the town—this section, mostly—has seemed to evolve a hundred years into the future. The massive changes lower his guard that his steps aren't heading in a certain direction anymore.

He's supposed to visit the local display at the northern of the slab. But instead, he approaches the town hall at the center of it, from which barbaric cheers and pained chicken clucks are heard. As he hobbles up the stairs, a figure knocks him off-balance. Before he slips down, a hand grips his wrist as tight as rubber.