Madara stands just off the step of the engawa, snow collecting in his wild hair, watching the thick cloud cover and sparse snowflakes, and the way his breath fogs in the night of the coldest winter in years.

Coldest in more ways than one: the house behind him is empty and barren, with none of the painful memories of childhood ghosts but no particularly good memories either; the closest neighbors are too far for the light of their kitchens and dinner tables to shed any proper light on his house; the children run away from him in the streets - even Uchiha children - and he can do nothing but simmer in pain turned to counterproductive anger, remembering when his brothers and cousins used to run up to him fearlessly.

The first birthday after the death of a family member has always hit Madara hard, but now, standing alone in the unusual cold, he misses the warmth of his family the most.