The hawk doesn't comprehend the power of a child's cry. Through every species, through years of evolution, it has remained that a newborn's wail will always draw attention. It provokes a response, a primordial reaction that redirects and inspires. While also common in drawing predators their way, children are most often discovered by their various kin be it herd, pack, or flock. These profound thoughts are far from Gawen's mental grasp, his world narrowing down to nothing but the expression of pain along his nervous system. His eyes are swallowed by glistening tears, the world around him muddled and bleary, tiny chest heaving with each dramatic breath. Because of that, he is understandably startled when Lyanna comes hurtling from seemingly nowhere to appear before him in a shower of feathers and disturbed wind.

Like all children, Gawen is startled into silence by her arrival, predicament temporarily forgotten in favor of shock. The fact that she knows his name isn't suspicious to the child, and as he begins breathing her scent comes forth to him. And while he may not remember his birth very well, Gawen is very well-connected to his instincts, to the natural ebb and flow of energy in himself and the resonating response of the earth. His lower lip trembles but he smiles tearily at Lyanna because he knows her. Her scent is a familiar one, faint memories that he cannot discern cementing his relationship with her. "'Anna," he parrots shakily, having the same trouble with her name as with Ultima's.

Lyanna's words are still mostly gibberish in their meaning, because Gawen is scarcely a few months old. But she says it in a nice, gentle tone, so Gawen bobs his head in an exaggerated display of promised obedience and sniffles while holding still.

That's when something amazing happens.

Mist converges upon his injured limb, and an odd sensation spreads across the area of the wound. Like when he sleeps too long and gets pins and needles. The boy stares agog as the writhing mists conceal his leg, the pain receding like it has been dipped in a blissfully cool stream. As the clouds depart, he's left staring at his unblemished foreleg, eyes wider than they've ever been. It's still sore, of course, and coated in dried blood. But it's healed.

Gawen's head whips towards Lyanna.

"How?" It's breathed across his lips, still stunned by the power she had displayed. Already thoughts are forming vaguely in his mind, excitement building. A path slowly defining itself.