A/N: As I promised, a few little ficlets. I think it's only going to be two or three. Any that I write after my sequel will go in here too. You don't need to read these before you read Scarab Key (whenever I get that up) but you can if you want to.

Storms

I'd always been scared of storms. The thunder was so loud, and the lightening was so bright, and sometimes you could hear it crack when it flashed. But I'd always had someone with me during one. Mom, Dad, Uncle Mark, Uncle Andrew, one of them. They'd always been near, and aware of my fear. Rick and Evelyn weren't, and besides, they were with little Alex, who was sure to be crying, he was only a month old. It was nights like this that made me miss my old family. I didn't like to call them my "real" family, like some of the other adopted children at school did. Rick Evelyn, Jonathan and Alex were my real family too.

I missed home. I missed the horses, which the neighbors had bought and promised to take care of, and promised that I could come see them whenever I liked, along with the cows. I missed Dad, and Mom. I missed Uncle Andrew, and Uncle Mark. I missed how Dad would sit on the edge of my bed and talk to me about nothing, distracting me from the storm, until I fell asleep. Mom did that too, only she would sing. And when Dad was still outside, putting the horses to bed, Uncle Mark or Uncle Andrew would come in and talk too. Sometimes Uncle Andrew would sing, he had a really nice voice, and I missed hearing it.

The lack of them being there made me realize how big this bed was, and the room too. It was a room, and a bed, for an adult, not me. Even worse, the window was huge. Normally I loved the huge window at night, the moon was bright and beautiful, but now, even with the curtains over it, I could still see the lightening, and nothing could block out the thunder.

Suddenly there was a knock at my door. I wondered who it was, was it Evelyn or Rick? But how would they have guessed about my fear?

"Come in." I said weakly. My voice sounded more scared than I realized.

"Sarah?" Jonathan asked as he opened the door. "Are you okay?"

"Not really." I said.

Jonathan looked out the window. "Scared of storms?" He asked.

I nodded, and he came and sat down on the edge of my bed.

"What did your American family used to do?" He asked. That's what he called it, my "American" family.

"Momma would sing." I said. "Dad would talk, Uncle Mark would talk, and so would Uncle Andrew, but sometimes he would sing." I smiled. "He had a nice voice, I always stood next to him at church."

"What would your Uncle Andrew talk about?" Jonathan asked.

"Art, especially paintings and drawings." I said. "Once he drew my room while my mom was sitting on my bed with me, and the lightning was flashing. It's on my nightstand."

Jonathan leaned over and picked up the paper, looking at it. "He was very good." Jonathan commented. "Even Rick would say that." He put it back, and picked up the picture I had framed that was sitting there as well.

"When was this taken?" He smiled.

"When I was two." I blushed. Jonathan smiled.

Jonathan looked around the walls. "So, are these all your horses?"

"Uncle Marks and Uncle Andrews too." I yawned.

"I took riding lessons when I was twelve." Jonathan said, staring at the pictures. "I was never very good, but I loved it. Though Father had me quit a few years later, when I wasn't getting anywhere in the riding school."

"Uncle Mark taught me how to ride when I was five." I said, getting sleepy. "I rode bareback until I was seven, and could finally ride right in his saddle. I learned on Momma's horse, Cecil."

"Which one is he?" Jonathan asked, looking at the several pictures.

"The brown one, without the mud on his legs." I smiled. "The one with mud is Cody, Uncle Mark's horse."

"Who drew this one?" Jonathan pointed at one of Cecil and me, Cecil was leaning his neck down, and I was resting my cheek on his nose.

"Uncle Andrew." I said. "Neither Dad or Uncle Mark can draw very well, they never took the time for it, but Uncle Andrew did. I've got a lot of his paintings. My favorite one is right there." I pointed just above the light switch. I knew the painting scenery by heart: a willow tree by a lake, with a palomino horse drinking from it.

"It's very good." Jonathan said, staring up at it. He started to say more, but I felt myself drifting off into sleep. I tried to stay awake, but slowly I felt my eyes closing.

When I woke up, it was light outside, and the sun was shining through the curtains. I sat up, and saw than Jonathan was asleep at the foot of my bed. Smiling, I covered him with a blanket, put on my dressing gown and slippers, and walked downstairs for breakfast.