Redhawk Caldera Brass knuckles are brass knuckles.

She missed Lagan's comment about eating the hawk, though she caught his second and third questions. Towhee didn't know if there was anything her sister could do for the bird, though if anyone in the world was capable of mending him, it'd be Raven. In response to Lagan's question, the young mercenary shifted her weight and lifted a brow at him. Hadn't she just said?

"He's a red hawk. Redhawk?" she said, perhaps a little too loudly. Even though he was a Blackthorn, surely he could make the connection to the name of their pack. Her attention promptly shifted to the caregiver as she made an assessment. She tried not to feel disappointed as she carefully turned this information over in her head.

"He's about the same weight as a young pup. Maybe if we used the dose for one—maybe cut in half—that would be safe? I can get him to eat," Towhee thought out loud. She hadn't even really considered that he might be in pain; she had been hung up on the fact that he was flightless and therefore vulnerable and unable to hunt for himself. "Do you think it might heal on its own? He's been keeping it pretty tightly folded." Raven was probably right that he wouldn't let her touch it.