He can understand where the rumours of his heart being made of ice — no, stone, because ice melts — came from.
Tobirama is standing at his brother's funeral, and he has yet to shed a single tear. He avoids looking at his sister-in-law, at anyone. It's inappropriately sunny, and, usually, he would appreciate the irony.
Not today.
Once again, Hashirama has performed one of his typical deeds of selflessness by selfishly dying.
It is an odd mixture of guilt and anger that keeps him from grieving.
(No matter how brutally he tramples his hopes, he still expects the man to land in the midst of black-clad mourners in a shower of leaves.)