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Liliana North watched the snow float down around her as she stood beside her car on the side of the road. It was an early winter morning in Catamount, Maine with snow barely falling as the clouds cleared. The sun was cresting the horizon, its rays bright against the wintery white landscape. The road wound through the outskirts of Catamount, a wooded tract of land on one side and a field on the other. The scent of balsam fir was sharp in the cold air. She leaned over to check her tire.
“Definitely flat,” she said to herself. A crow squawked in reply. She glanced up to see the crow had landed on the roof of her car, watching her curiously. She glared at the crow who might be providing her some company, but would be of no help with her flat tire. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and
