Uzushio's treacherous waters are mirrored in its people. Or so I am told…
-Tempest-
She was a storm, a whirlwind of rage and indignation that made her seem larger than life, her chakra whipping at their faces with pinprick precision. Hashirama grinned and began standing, the lack of preservation instinct mirrored in his wide grin and twinkling eyes. Only a motherless fool raised by wild animals would miss the vicious reprimand in her bottomless stormy eyes.
Madara had more sense than that. The many times his late mother had displayed the same frigid anger were still fresh in his memory. It was instinctual, some ancient urge to defer to this slip of a girl with steel in her voice. He lowered his head, adverted his eyes and secretly smirked at seeing Hashirama get thoroughly chewed on by the tempest that Uzumaki Mito was.