Showdown in Black Oak Village Part 12

Blaka loved fishing at night. It gave him time to think, to be alone with his thoughts. It allowed him to mourn the loss of his wife and children. It allowed him to be angry and bitter at the world. A humble fished poked his head out of the water for an instant as if to say hello to an old friend. It reminded Blaka of the last time he went fishing during the day. The sun was hot and bright. His skin was pink after only 10 minutes. He went to the market which was much too crowded. He got bumped this way and that. He was knocked down by some boys playing ball, dropping and spilling his basket of fish as he fell. He scolded them for being reckless. A circle of people formed around the scene. Then their mother pushed through and scolded Blaka for not looking at where he was going. Blaka fumed the rest of the day at the injustice of it all. Bah! Curse them all. He wouldn’t bat an eye if the whole lot of them died tomorrow. He’s probably the last man in Black Oak that hasn’t worked with or for La Roca and his crew. Well no matter, fishing at night worked just as well. His thoughts returned to the sloshing water around his boat. He was proud of this boat. It took him ages to build, and two year’s wages as a stable boy, but he made it.
Suddenly his fishing pole yanked. Blaka grabbed the pole excitedly and yanked back. The fish fought powerfully. The two played tug-o-war until Blaka’s muscles ached. They wrestled for long minutes. Blaka’s muscles began twitching with exhaustion. Finally the fish relented and Blaka hauled it on board. Blaka’s eyes swelled to the size of the moon. “Woah… This is the mother of all fish. This has to be the biggest fish I’ve ever seen. It’s my lucky day!” Blaka said to himself. He wished he could have shown his wife, but remembered that she was dead. He rowed back to the dock, a little gleeful, a little melancholy. After tying up, he hefted the net of fish over his shoulder and began trudging back through town to his humble shack.About half way there, he heard a swift pattering. He stopped, looked around, didn’t see anything and kept going, a little quicker now. Pat-pat-pat-pat-pat-pat-pat. Shing! The ringing of a blade sliding from its sheath echoed among the buildings. Blaka fell backwards. His head rolled a little further. His net of fish spilled open. Pat-pat-pat-pat-pat-pat-pat. The pattering died off into the distance. His boat was missing in the morning.

What do you think? Right? Wrong? Pure poppycock?