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He was the equivalent of seven or eight human years when she was born.  From the moment he first laid eyes on her tiny, helpless, fragile, mewling form, he knew he had to protect her.  That it was his familial duty as ‘big brother’.

“Dhuanare,” whispered Emaarion, tugging on his older brother’s robes as they watched from the doorway of their mother’s birthing room.  “How will she survive?”

“Well, the same way you did, I would imagine.  Parenting.  Then I’ll have two of you finger painting all over my lessons,” Dhuanare said as he started away from the door.

Emaarion fidgeted, torn between staying and keeping an eye on his new sister and interrogating his brother further.  The need for answers finally won out and the young altmer went scampering after Dhuanare.  “I can’t believe she came out of mother’s stomach.”  He shuddered from his head to his toes.  “That’s disgusting.”

Dhuanare smiled.  “Yes.  I said the same thing when you were born.”

Emaarion ignored his brother’s comment and continued talking, a dreamy, faraway look in his eyes.  “What do you think she’ll be like?  Do you think she’ll like me?  She won’t like you.  You scowl too much.  What do you think she’ll grow up to be?”

Dhuanare sighed.  “I don’t know and I don’t care, as long as she’s quiet.”

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