". . .where is his body, Anija?" Tobirama said almost numbly, still struggling to comprehend not only the depths Madara - a quiet, grief-stricken figure in the village - had sunk to, but that his brother had killed him. Years at war and Hashirama had forever refused even to unleash his full strength on Madara, but now . . . now he had done so?

Tobirama swallowed roughly, coming to a stop beside the bloodied, crumpled figure - in the back, Anija?, Tobirama thought, shaking his head as he knelt - one that should never have been brought so low, left so carelessly forgotten; one who had once dreamed of incredible tomorrows with at least the same fervour as Hashirama.