Lucy stuffs her hands further into her pockets, breathing fog into the cold air as she gazes up at the stars. 

Grandpa was right; the sky looks so different, this far from the city. Going camping is an objectively insane thing to do for Christmas, unless you live in the southern hemisphere, but Grandpa ended up holding onto someone's RV for a couple of months through some kind of convoluted series of events that Lucy didn't quite follow, and there was going to be an Aurora, and...

Well, it's not a normal Christmas, but it's been lovely. 

The skies darken, and Lucy frowns and turns to head back towards the camper. 

Lightning strikes, and it's not that Lucy doesn't notice that it's oddly colored, or the one after it, it's just that it's less immediately urgent than getting out from under the treeline, because under a tree is a really bad place to be when lightning hits--

--she's in a clearing, more than three yards from any tree, when the lightning finds her anyway.