A/N: Guys... I don't even know. This was an old thing I wrote, found, wiped off and posted because the updates I'm working on for my other stories are taking a while. I'd like to think that my writing has improved from this.

Anyway, this story is kind of a way to tell you about something you might not know about: the Avatar unaired pilot episode. If you search it up you should find it but... wow. That thing is... interesting. Katara's name was Kya. Sokka's kinda rude. Where is Iroh!? And this: Zuko was meant to have a pet hawk. And I just thought that was adorable. Like so adorable I wrote about it. I found a few more scenes on the file, I'll clean that up and post it but the story isn't finished. Maybe I'll finish it up one day.

I don't have the link for the pilot but you'll find it. I found it and I'm not that good at interneting.

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"Mom, I think it's still alive!"

Princess Ursa turned towards the sound of the voice and was greeted by the sight of her son, walking towards her briskly with a sense of urgency. Cradling something in his hands.

"I found it by the pond, it's cold, but I think it's still alive," he informed her, more than a little panicked.

"What is it, Zuko," she asked, taking his hands in hers, "show me."

He cautiously took his hands away, leaving in his mother's hands the contents – a little, grey fledgling.

"Is it okay, mom?"

She studied the bird – it was rather damp, but its little claws were scratching and its mouth just opened a second ago.

"It's alive, now calm down," she assured him, "we'll get him warmed up and I'll find someone to take a look at him, alright. Here, take him to your room and keep him in the blankets, okay? I'll be right back."

Zuko held his hands out gingerly. He was afraid to hold it, afraid he might hurt it, but he trusted his mother.

"Okay."

Ursa didn't know who to ask. The only person she could think of who would know anything about animals was the stable hand. Sadly, his knowledge didn't extend to much more than komodo-rhinos, but he was willing to take a look.

"Well, it's a bit worn out, a little wet," the man analyzed. "Doesn't seem sick. Keep it warm and try to get some food in it. That's all I can recommend."

"What type of bird is it? Is it a turtleduck?" Zuko asked.

"No," the stable hand chuckled," not with these claws, my prince." He studied the bird a little more. "I don't know what it is. But give it a little while, the grey feathers are falling out, when the new ones come out maybe you can tell."

He handed the hatchling, which had gotten much more energetic after nesting in Zuko's blankets, back to Ursa.

"Thank you."

"It was my pleasure, Princess Ursa."

"What do we do with it," Zuko asked after the man had left.

"Well, what do you want? I can find someone to take care of him if you'd like. Or you can watch over it."

He pondered this for a minute. He liked the bird, even if he was still scared of dropping it. He looked back at the chick, which had found its voice again and was using it relentlessly. In the half hour he'd known it he'd grown attached. It was warm and fluffy and alive. He felt afraid of harming it.

But he was even more afraid of losing him.

A week later and it was clear the bird was not a turtleduck.

In that week, Ursa had found someone with some aviary knowledge – a young servant who had worked in a messenger hawk center at one time.

"Come on Hawky, you have to eat this," Zuko insisted. "Mom said it was good for you."

"With that color and beak, it's definitely a hawk," the young man had said, "same breed as the ones used for carrying messages. At that age, give it a bit of minced meat, once it's done molting it can try ripping pieces off itself.

"Zuko, can I see him for a minute?"

"Bright eyes and lots of noise mean it's healthy."

Eyes. Check. Noise. Definitely.

"It should have grown markings by now; black tufts around the beak and above the eyes. They'll grow longer eventually."

Markings. Not check.

"You know, Zuko – I think this fine, young lady deserves a more dignified name than Hawky."

He blinked. "It's a girl?" His eyebrows scrunched up, like he wasn't sure what to make of that.

"Umm, I'm sorry I called you a boy, Hawky." The bird chirped contently. Ursa chuckled.

"You know, there isn't much difference between the girls and boys. Only the boys are used as messengers though, because people like how they look," she recalled, "But the females usually grow bigger. And stronger."

"Really?"

"Really. So how about a new name. Hawky is too common." And I can just tell you'll regret naming her that when you're older.

"I can't think of any."

"We'll figure it out. Now how about getting some food into this little guy."

"Sora? How about Sora?"

"Umm, I'll think about it."

"Hmm, how about Noriko? I always liked that name…"

"Ow, ow! Stop scratching me!" The hawk squawked as her perch on Zuko's arm shook.

Not everyone had been as open to the prince's pet as his mother had.

Ozai hadn't noticed the bird until recently. He didn't care much though. He saw Zuko as beneath his notice and his pet scored even less.

"If you worked harder on your firebending, I would have given you a well-bred hawk." He had said over the dinner table, usually the only time the two would be in the same room together. "Instead you decide to take in this stray and defile my authority."

Despite his warning, Ozai didn't order the bird away.

Azula had gotten jealous claiming she could raise a much better hawk than her brother. So she asked for one and true to his word, Ozai delivered. The bird vanished within the week. Azula didn't appear too distressed about the bird's disappearance.

Iroh had gotten the news by letter, and answered as like. He and Lu Ten had been delighted to hear about the new addition to the family and sent a bounty of gifts; from a falconry sleeve to a little silver whistle to bird treats.

They usually don't train messenger hawks for war, Iroh had wrote, but I know you will raise her well. These are used to train raven eagles, but I think they'll come in handy. Good luck my nephew, and know that the bond between human and animal is not something to underestimate.

His mother continued musing over possible names for the bird.

"Noriko and Noren… those were the names from my favorite play. The one about the dragons, don't you remember? I took you to see it that one time at Ember Island." Zuko tried to pry the hawk's claws off his arm.

"Noriko," he says offhandedly. He didn't remember the play. "…Noriko and No – Ren!" The bird suddenly dug into his skin. His mother chuckles and tells him maybe it's time to put the falconry glove to use.

He still hoped the scratching was just a phase.

Ren was a perceptive bird.

She saw how Zuko would become distressed when she dig her claws into his arm or when she rips up the lavish couch cushions into piles of red silk and cotton.

Not that she did anything on these observations. Up to this point in time, the mood of the boy meant little to nothing to her. She was a wild animal, attachment to anyone, parents, siblings and strange humans included, was not natural.

However, she was observant. She knew Zuko was happy when she perched lightly on his arm, when she squawked or flapped or picked something up when he told her to. He's happy when she hops, wings flailing fruitlessly trying to catch air. He claps when she climbs higher and is there when she plummets back down.

And as the weeks pass, it became more important to her that the human was happy.

Zuko finds her screeching at his firebending instructors. He always seemed disheartened after practice. When Azula walks up towards them, her feathers ruffle up. It's meant to look threatening but Azula just laughs and says she'd roast the bird soon enough.

She once growled at Ozai. Only once though, because Zuko seemed even more distressed afterwards.

Ren wanted to dig her claws into something today – preferably whoever caused the boy to be weeping beneath his covers right now.

Ren was a perceptive birds. She found it odd that the other human she somewhat tolerated, Ursa, had not come to console him as usual.

So she contented herself by enlarging her collection of scratch marks on the boy's bedpost and when the crying stops, finds herself nested in between the sheets.