It was beautiful up here, too, and that was not beyond him. Once he'd helped to pull the other man up to their feet those similarly red eyes looked outward to the scene below. The way the snow glistened through the darkness was really something he'd never quite seen before. Sparkling blue cascading over the view below among the warmth of candle lights, rising up from the sounds of music and laughter. In the quiet moment, he looked over the people below and couldn't help thinking of home. It was Hashirama who so frequently visited the edge of that cliff. He'd always been one to be among them, on the ground, hands busied with work.

Though every now and then, alone, he'd travel up to that cliffs edge and so easily saw why it was there that Hashirama and Madara chose to build the village. So ensconced in these thoughts he hadn't noticed anything out of order though his arms crossed and eyes slipped over to Yondu. "It's a valuable skill," he comments belatedly with a nod toward the comment of food. He's in no rush for it. Thinking for a moment, he... decides to share the tale.

"My home, before it had become the village it was there was this cliff edge. It lead dropped into a valley showered in trees, forest on every side but the cliff's wall. It was a favored place of my brother's. There at that height was where he and Madara spoke at length of the village; of the place that had become home."