The land was drenched in bloody light, and Sindri squirmed within her pelt. The need to go and do something welled hot beneath her skin, but with all that kept happening and those that kept coming and going, she felt guilty in trying to walk away. She knew she'd be back within a reasonable about of time (unlike Tyr's unruly sons, who trusted them to leave alone?), but especially now that she was starting to learn the ways of herbs and healing she was needed here. She was going to be some level of important, relied on, as a healer. When things went wrong, like poor Apollo's accident, she would be turned to when people needed mending.
She was glad to have a teacher such as Lilja, she was, but she was upset with herself for comitting when she specifically wanted to stretch her legs beforehand. Now she had lessons, expectations, and she wasn't going to let her family down.

But it was hard to focus when the skies wept, and her charcoal gaze kept getting drawn upwards.

The moon-kissed yearling wandered the island, tense, ears back and head low like a beast stalking her prey. Astraios soared along overhead lazily, apparently unbothered by the sky but discontent with Sindri's unhappiness. He swooped lower and lower as time went on until he was only just above her head, and the deep flaps of his wings met beneath him to brush her ear tips. She appreciated his presence, the comfort he brought her, but couldn't muster a laugh as much as he didn't seem serious in teasing her. With a soft coo as they came into view of the hot springs, the owl fluttered down and hooked his talons into the loose fur of her scruff to hang on.

The pantheon is out of sorts, Astraios, she spoke softly to her companion, so focused on the sky she didn't see Tyr in a distant pool as she passed by, I should be there to settle the disruption.

Memories came back to her readily now, often recalled in the quiet moments of observing or in the peace of her dreaming world. She had yet to find a title, a name, to speak of what she had for so long tried to puzzle out herself, but she knew she came from the same sort of place as her Father. She could see the stories he told her, sometimes, not as though she'd been there but as if she could remember the places and people he spoke of. It was a strange feeling, one Sindri sometimes felt... awkward over. Whatever identity she juggled within her now felt like an intimate secret she was unwilling to hand out willy-nilly.
Until she figured it out, managed to grasp the truth in her own teeth, she wasn't sure how to talk about it. How was this something anyone could help her with?

They never rest properly when they argue, and that just makes things worse.