"He was a god's son, the lord of the desert."
"He was revered by all his people, worshipped by all living beings."
"The nightingale's song and the fragrance of roses could not wake him from his grief."
"It was an age when boys danced with lion tails and girls spoke of love with roses, singing with nightingales and courting roses."
"He believed the slander of treacherous ministers and forsook his body. In a single night, raging sands buried everything. Wisdom ultimately turned to madness..."
Silver Moon sat in Madara's lap as they read together, father and son.
Madara had found Silver Moon books from this world. Since the writing differed from that of the Shinobi World, Madara could only act as a translator, reading the words on the pages to Silver Moon in his own language.
These were legends widely told in the region where Madara now lived, probably stories from hundreds or even thousands of years ago.
They were all rather vague stories.
Silver Moon listened attentively to the somewhat obscure, hard-to-follow stories.
Muye had long since left Madara's side because he found these stories far too boring. He had gone off to admire the scenery.
Silver Moon was different from Muye. No matter how little he understood, he would consider his dad's feelings. He would always listen from beginning to end and offer his dad encouragement.
Silver Moon believed his dad was bad at showing affection because he didn't know how, not because he didn't want to. With a little guidance, his dad could do better than anyone else. His dad was a good dad.
Madara had never been particularly good at communicating with others. Telling his children stories was already a very proactive effort to fulfill his duties as a father, and he really was trying