It was barely 10pm that day and all the grand children of paAtonga were gathered around him, as he told them the story about wolves. They haven't heard any of his slow but captivating stories in a long while, and as his stories always go, at the end, you must have something you've learnt. Well, for that evening, the moral was simple. The strength of the wolves is the pack, and the strength of the pack is the wolves.

Ten years on, and the children were listening to another paAtonga's sory. He started: "A long time ago there were three brothers, their parents had died and left them their properties. These children were in chaos and so all their relatives forcefully collected their properties. On realizing how stupid they had been, they reconciled among themselves, and together collected back what belonged to them." As soon as paAtonga finished, he was fast asleep, and the listeners were left to brainstorm on what the lesson of the story was. Such was the behavior of paAtonga whenever he told a story. The children laughed and covered him with a cloak, as it was already past midnight, and made haste to their beds.