The cool of the room becomes immediately apparent. A sound arises like a distant murmur of many voices, carried on a spectral wind. She finds Ujitaro, his heat signature plain, seated cross-legged on a cushion at the center of the room. He holds his arms crossed over his chest, his fingers arranged in mystical signs, his head bent back as if to include all the heavens within his gaze. The naga flow around him, over the floor, his folded legs, his shoulders, even his head, like rivers of smoldering heat.