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His brother's heavy limbs ensnared him as the smaller of the two deployed lack of activity to keep the larger down. Unable to figure this method out at first, Emwe was trapped, and he panted and laughed at the same time as he struggled to get himself loose. Conor the trickster! "You got me there!" He believed this in sincerity: it was important to have rules, and he had not laid down a rule against this. But Conor had been very clever anyway. His face was so composed up there, as well; too bad, because Emwe had enjoyed being the smart one for a moment. His silvery eyes grew in size as he pretended to be shocked and appalled at his brother's pretense threat, though in fact he was sadly aware of how he was not getting loose anyway. Changing his tactics, Emwe felt a little bit smart again, and stopped struggling and spoke. "But I was just pretending, Conor. I'll share with you, I promise." Now he waited for a reaction, waited for Conor to get off and let him free, unaware that his face was giving away his intentions. Though he might feel clever, he was not; he was not good at understanding when his face might betray him, and when he was in the safe zone. His ears and brows were clearly excited whilst the rest of his face worked desperately to look honest. Emwe just wasn't good at these things, but it would harm no one to try. Or, rather, it would hurt no one but himself.