Tags: race:altmer kink:family ----- Ten-year-old Norindil pulled the hand of his toddling sister down the stairs of the cellar, Selshina's fluffy blanket dragging behind them. He swiftly hid them both behind a large wooden crate and shushed urgently at her. "Now quiet." He stood in front of Selshina and stole a careful peek around the corner, eyeing the stairs with apprehension.
But Selshina saw a blossoming bruise splattered across her older brother's forehead and raised a tiny hand from her fluffy blanket. "Angua," she burped, "angua."
Norindil turned around in horror to see his infant sister's hand glowing with a child's imitation of a healing spell; too weak to be used effectively, but powerful enough to be a shining yellow beacon in the dark of the cellar. "Don't do that!" he whispered fiercely, desperately trying to bury the glow back within the debts of her blanket. "Stop! He'll find us!"
But Selshina wasn't about to let her brother wander around with an ugly bruise on his head and continued in her aid. She "ahh-ed" several times for the effort of trying to heal her brother's injury, her little voice echoing around the cellar. Norindil turned in horror to spot a silhouette growing at the doorway of the cellar, the shadow slowly extending down the stairs to their hiding spot.
"I heard something in here!" a voice called.
In a final act of desperation, Norindil took his sister's blanket and unceremoniously draped it over her head, engulfing her from view. Selshina poked pitifully from the inside of the blanket, her oversized ears two points on the top of the bundle of tiny Altmer. Norindil turned back to eye the stairs, only to come face to face with the unimpressed face of their father.
"Nice try." Halenor straightened up and leaned on the wooden crate his two naughty children cowered behind. "Go clean up the mess you made."
Norindil lowered his gaze in shame and slowly dragged his feet from his hiding spot and up the stairs. As Selshina passed by, Halenor removed the blanket still covering her and watched as his two-year-old daughter return to the kitchen with much more enthusiasm than her older brother.
Back in the kitchen, Norindil scowled at the puddle of pink cooking oil he'd accidentally spilled on the floor. He and Selshina had been racing around the house when they'd knocked over a pot sitting on the stove counter. In the confusion, Norindil ran straight into the oil, slipped, and banged his head on the floor. The noise attracted the attention of their father, who was next door, working on his alchemy.
Halenor grabbed two cotton washing cloths and a prickly sea sponge. "Use the sponge to soak up the oil. Then wipe up the rest with the cloths." He placed the sponge in his son's hand, and a cloth to Selshina, who simply examined it for a moment, then dropped it on the floor. "Make sure that the floor is no longer slippery, or someone could get hurt." Halenor eyed the bruise on Norindil's forehead. "But it looks like someone already has."
Norindil scowled at the puddle, then scowled at his baby sister, who was already getting distracted by a bowl of grapes sitting on the table. His father was still watching him expectantly, so he sighed and nodded.
Beneath the Summerset 1/?
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Ten-year-old Norindil pulled the hand of his toddling sister down the stairs of the cellar, Selshina's fluffy blanket dragging behind them. He swiftly hid them both behind a large wooden crate and shushed urgently at her. "Now quiet." He stood in front of Selshina and stole a careful peek around the corner, eyeing the stairs with apprehension.
But Selshina saw a blossoming bruise splattered across her older brother's forehead and raised a tiny hand from her fluffy blanket. "Angua," she burped, "angua."
Norindil turned around in horror to see his infant sister's hand glowing with a child's imitation of a healing spell; too weak to be used effectively, but powerful enough to be a shining yellow beacon in the dark of the cellar. "Don't do that!" he whispered fiercely, desperately trying to bury the glow back within the debts of her blanket. "Stop! He'll find us!"
But Selshina wasn't about to let her brother wander around with an ugly bruise on his head and continued in her aid. She "ahh-ed" several times for the effort of trying to heal her brother's injury, her little voice echoing around the cellar. Norindil turned in horror to spot a silhouette growing at the doorway of the cellar, the shadow slowly extending down the stairs to their hiding spot.
"I heard something in here!" a voice called.
In a final act of desperation, Norindil took his sister's blanket and unceremoniously draped it over her head, engulfing her from view. Selshina poked pitifully from the inside of the blanket, her oversized ears two points on the top of the bundle of tiny Altmer. Norindil turned back to eye the stairs, only to come face to face with the unimpressed face of their father.
"Nice try." Halenor straightened up and leaned on the wooden crate his two naughty children cowered behind. "Go clean up the mess you made."
Norindil lowered his gaze in shame and slowly dragged his feet from his hiding spot and up the stairs. As Selshina passed by, Halenor removed the blanket still covering her and watched as his two-year-old daughter return to the kitchen with much more enthusiasm than her older brother.
Back in the kitchen, Norindil scowled at the puddle of pink cooking oil he'd accidentally spilled on the floor. He and Selshina had been racing around the house when they'd knocked over a pot sitting on the stove counter. In the confusion, Norindil ran straight into the oil, slipped, and banged his head on the floor. The noise attracted the attention of their father, who was next door, working on his alchemy.
Halenor grabbed two cotton washing cloths and a prickly sea sponge. "Use the sponge to soak up the oil. Then wipe up the rest with the cloths." He placed the sponge in his son's hand, and a cloth to Selshina, who simply examined it for a moment, then dropped it on the floor. "Make sure that the floor is no longer slippery, or someone could get hurt." Halenor eyed the bruise on Norindil's forehead. "But it looks like someone already has."
Norindil scowled at the puddle, then scowled at his baby sister, who was already getting distracted by a bowl of grapes sitting on the table. His father was still watching him expectantly, so he sighed and nodded.