[he certainly notices the attention, but pays it no particular mind. he's spent many, many years in the company of madlings, and mordred's not showing him any particular pity or disgust]

So I have named him, and his brethren. I acknowledge no family but that I have chosen.

[he takes a small pouch from beneath his cloak. his right hand is whole, a hand made perfect, somehow finer than a normal hand. the left is a ruin, fingers twisted and knuckled from being crushed and healed poorly. when he opens the bag, there's a subtle smell of raw meat. he turns and addresses the raven]

Come, little brother, I have your bribe.

[it's enough to bring fetch out of the tree to settle on his shoulder, though the bird doesn't take his eyes off mordred except to take the small gobbet of meat from ushahin's ruined fingers]

You may try to feed him, child, although he is wary of strangers.