Description of holding and healing of a wounded bird! Thanks for corrections. regards

We went out of the house, ran towards the garden, and started to look for the bird. As the ground was covered with withered leaves, it was not easy to locate the place where the bird was.
"Don't move and be quite," said my mother. I nodded and kept quiet. Then finally we heard the cawing again. She went towards the voice, sank her hand into dry leaves, and found a raven of a young age wounded and was trying to hide among the dry leaves. As she held it daintily in a cupped left hand and covered it with her right hand, then, she stretched her index and middle fingers of her left hand between the legs of raven to make it sit on her stretched fingers. It was extremely frightened but couldn't find enough strength for yelling at us to keep away due to hunger and dehydration. One of its wings was wounded and one of its legs was broken. It was limping and couldn't fly. “Let’s find a shoe box,” said my mother. She found a cardboard shoe box. “Osman, would you please line it with dry leaves?” She wanted. As I filled the box with the dry leaves, she put the raven in it. "Please, wait here by the box to see if it has parents!" she requested. "Okay," I replied. Then, "How long should I wait?" I asked. "Don't leave the box unattended," she warned, "so that cats won't come for it!" she said as she went to home. I waited but I didn't know how long past for sure. Finally my mother came out of house. "Did any bird come in and fly about you?" She inquired. "No, not yet," I answered. "Bring the box in then," she called me in. I nicely grabbed the box; the bird did not get scared of me nor yelled at me. Its eyes were bleary. It was obvious that it was suffering from the pain. I got out of the garden, went down the stairs, passed through the courtyard, and started the stairs again. Upon emerging from the stairway, I opened the door, entered inside. "Where should I place it?" I cried. "Bring it to the living room," she responded. I took the box to the living room. "Here it is," I said. "Leave it on the cushion by the window," she demanded. I sat down on the cushion instead the box was atop my knees. She came over and held it daintily again and checked its leg, found the broken parts and fixated them with matchsticks on both side, then wrapped it around. Then she took her to basin, poured some water directly on the wound, cleaning away the blood and dirt, took a large pinch of something from a small bottle and placed it on her palm. Then she added water, mixed them together, and applied it over the wound. "That'll help stop bleeding and start healing," said she. Then she nicely placed it back to the box again and left the room. She went upstairs searched for something in the kitchen and came back to the room within ten minutes. She had found a dropper, filled it with the broth, took the raven into her hand, rubbed the dropper gently along the raven's beak, and jarred its "nest" to stimulate it to open its mouth. As it opened its bill, she squeezed one drop of the broth into the mouth of the raven by gently pulling down the lower part of its beak. The raven was not able to drink it but it tried to feed it all. Then the next drop followed the first, and then the third one. When it was full, it pulled its head back and turned. Mean while my mother found a glass syringe, filled it with boiled water add a small pinch of salt and sugar, soaked in boiling water, and then left it on the bench to come to room temperature. After that she injected a small volume into raven under the skin. Several days later my father brought a powder that would kill the mites on the body of the raven. My mother checked its wound and a dressing on it again and applied the powder. In the following days, it imprinted on my mother and me and begged us incessantly for feeding it with the broth when it was hungry. As the raven got acquainted with us, it became wary and only begged at my mother and me recognizing as its parents. But it was soon able to stuff food down its throat by itself. It would stand up and stretch its necks toward my mother when it was hungry. Little raven liked to fit snugly into its nest when it was full. The box had worked well until the bird gained enough leg strength to hop out. As it recovered, during the winter of that year, it tended to stay in the shoe box but didn't like much being covered with the lid over the box.