How could he have forgotten? How many times had Master Yoshi lit incense and said prayers in front of a picture of Tang Shen? How foolish of him, to have invented a fifth son, taken before his time, and then fail to erect a proper shrine for him.
With what little strength he could muster, Splinter gathered his children from their respective hiding places; Donatello and Michelangelo from April's, Leonardo from the bathroom, Raphael from the dojo, and Botticelli from his memory. He gathered his living sons around him and told them a familiar story, one they all knew by heart. But this time, he replaced that which had been taken out, found that which had been lost, and told the truth.