It was his father's burial day, and he felt empty now. It had been a long week, his mother broke down and wasn't able to function, while his brothers and sisters were far too busy with studies and travelling home for the ceremony, so he had to gather all his might and plan everything, from the smallest detail (what flower meant what and how it'd fit his father's being, what dishes would be served first, the embroidery and details on the invitations) to the more hard, tiring duties (telling his near-relatives the accident, calling all his coleagues and friends, learning from the Book of the Spirits to recite the text correctly, renting the local Temple, and many more).

It is tradition in Naga culture that the wife and elder son paint and decorate their scales. The wife is accompanied by her sisters, daughters and female relatives, to remind her that she will be supported and cared for along the way. The elder son, however, must do it alone, as it was a sign of maturity, independency and will-power. It was a job that he had to do alone, as a worthy man, like the many others that would come along the way.

He was tired, he was. It had been a very long week, and that day, the one day he could do what resembled the most to his work, was the most tiring of them all.