A/N: Sorry for posting this a day later than I intended. I meant to post this yesterday but my friends and I made a split-second decision to go to Disney yesterday instead of today and we were there for over 12 hours; I thought 11:00 might be a little late to post, so I decided on today. I'll post the first chapter tomorrow.

Preface

"It was a dark and stormy night."

"I thought it was a calm night, with a really bright moon!"

"Quiet Cragkit, let Screeheart tell the story!"

The two quarreling kits glared eat each other, their nearly identical gray-and-white coats revealing them to be littermates. Close by, three other kits watched the two argue before glancing at the ancient elder in from of them.

Screeheart, an elderly she-cat with a pelt of creamy-gray sliced through with dark stripes, was watching the two kits with her warm golden eyes. She reached forward with one of her darker-colored legs to bat at the two fighters.

"Hush, kits. Cragkit, you should not have interrupted me while I was telling a story, it is rude to disrespect your elders. Wavekit, do not speak so harshly to your brother. What he says is true. Many times the elders say the beginning of the Fracture began with a calm night."

"So why don't you?" A tabby kit stood up, moving closer so Screeheart could wrap her thick, darker-colored tail around her.

"Because Fallkit, I should know what that night was like better than any alive." The five kits all looked up, enraptured. "Why is that so? Because, little one, that was the night I was born."

The kits all blinked before scooting closer to listen better when Screeheart began again.

"It was a dark and stormy night. The nights to follow would not be much different."

Screeheart watched as the kits scampered off. Cragkit and Wavekit were pouncing on each other and causing a small raucous. Their mother quickly ran from the nursery to collect her two errant kits and shoo them inside with a scolding.

Kits, Screeheart mused ruefully.

"I have a feeling those little ones will be back for that story soon."

Screeheart watched as Dolphintail sat down with a huff. The gray-blue she-cat began licking her mangled back leg.

"I know. That's why I always wait to tell them when they'll soon be out of the nursery."

Dolphintail purred in amusement. "Cunning as ever."

Screeheart flicked her tail in agreement.

"I wonder if you'll ever tell them the true story of what happened?"

The two she-cats starred at each other. Screeheart flicked her ears and Dolphintail's paw twitched.

"Or not," the gray she-cat muttered.

Screeheart shook her head. "There are some things that should be left to the past."

"And there are some things that should never be forgotten. Who are we to decide which one?"

A growl rose in Screeheart's throat and she stood up. "We are the ones who survived. That's all those kits need to know." She began padding toward their den's entrance.

"That's all we thought we needed to know too."

Dophintail's sentence hung in the air, and Screeheart couldn't deny it.

Screeheart left the den and went to sit outside the CliffClan camp, watching the waves and clouds with a watchful eye.

"A storm?"

Screeheart turned her head to watch a cat approach.

The young blue-gray she-cat looked too wary for her age. Screeheart had been present at Brightmoon's brith, watching and encouraging the youthful leader's mother through her first, and only, littler of kits. Part of the elder still saw the weak, tiny kit who many hadn't though would survive, and it was hard to image that little one now leading a clan.

Screeheart flicked her tail to say no. "Probably not for another half-moon. Maybe some rain, but no storms."

Brightmoon was clearly relieved. Screeheart would be too if she had become a leader two moons ago after only five moons as a deputy.

"May I ask what you were so troubled about?"

Screeheart purred in amusement. "You may ask, but that doesn't mean I'll tell."

The young leader ducked her head in embarrassment. Screeheart decided to take pity on her and answered the question.

"I'm sure you know the story of the moon."

Brightmoon nodded before finding the moon, hidden by the clouds.

"That's where the spirits of our ancestors go. Their spirits are what make the night sky shine so bright, because even when the moon is gone, there is still light."

Screeheart nodded. "Yes. But I have a feeling no one told you the story of the lights in the ocean."

Brightmoon tilted her head, her ears pricked as she looked at Screeheart, curious.

"Long ago, far past the memory of our ancestors, the moon began to fade. The cats of the cliffs, with no allegiance to any clan but only to their own ancestors who lived in the moon, grew frightened and scared. They began fighting and warring, believing that if they could prove their own group was more powerful, their ancestors would return. However, the moon kept getting darker, and the fighting only grew. Finally, after moons of fighting, one cat noticed something. A blue light was shining far in the ocean's horizon. When she told the other cats of this, they came to see if it was true. As they saw this light, one among these cats, old and wise, realized that it was their ancestors and the sprits of those who had died in this fight. Their ancestors had abandoned them because of their fighting and killing. The gathered cats quickly made a pact to join into groups, clans, guided by a code that would not cause endless violence ever again. Believing they had done what MoonClan requested, they waited and watched, hopeful that the light in the ocean would fade, and the moon would return. The light did eventually fade, but when the moon returned, it was not as bright. With horror they realized that their pact had not done enough. Their ancestors, would never return."

Brightmoon blinked at Screeheart in shock. "Is that how our clans were formed?"

Screeheart shook her head. "I don't know. That's not why I was told the story."

"Then why were you told the story?" Brightmoon questioned.

Screeheart hesitated, then looked Brightmoon in the eyes as she answered. "To know that sometimes we fail. And we don't know what we did wrong."

Brightmoon didn't stay long.

Reassured that her clan was safe, the young she-cat went back inside, most likely to see how her kits were doing.

Screeheart looked back to the ocean, her ears pricked as she listened to the waves crashing and seagulls crying. If it wasn't for the harsh wind stirring the sea into a frenzy and filling the air with moisture it might be bearable outside.

Maybe Brightmoon and the other queens would bring their kits outside; watching with sharp eyes to make sure that their kits didn't venture too close to the cliff's edge. Dolphintail and the other elder would make their way out, finding the Fallen Rock and sunning themselves as much as they could. The apprentices would be running on the paths and jumping between the rocks while the warriors would be twitching their whiskers and ruminating on "the good old days" when they used to do the same. The clan would feel united and safe.

Screeheart only remembered one or two days like that from her own life. One while she was a kit and another during her apprenticeship. There had been no time for peace and relaxation with the possibility of attack looming over the camp like a coming storm.

That time was past and now kits like Cragkit and Wavekit didn't have to fear when their mothers and father left on patrol.

Screeheart stared into the horizon.

Cragkit and Wavekit would never have to fear they would live without their family.

Screeheart remained outside until a light rain began to fall.

When she entered the camp she was surprised to find Cragkit waiting for her.

His bushy white tail was wrapped around his paws in a way that reminded Screeheart of the young kit's mother. She pricked her ears as she approached and watched the kit fidgeted before meowing.

"Why does Brightmoon ask you when a storm is coming? My father can tell, and so can other warriors, so why does she always ask you?" Cragkit looked puzzled.

Screeheart's whiskers twitched and she answered. "With your father, I'm sure you know what a Stormwatcher is?"

"A Stormwatcher is a cat who's been taught how to look at the clouds and the waves to tell when a storm is coming."

"Did you know it was originally a position in the clan? Like a medicine cat?" Cragkit's eyes lit up and he shook his head 'no'. "Well, it was. The Watcher of the Storms. It was one of the most sought after positions in the clan since storm's are a very important part of our life. The arrival of a storm will signal when patrols can go out, and knowing how long it might last tells the fishers how much prey they need to catch. To be a Watcher of the Storms was the highest honor. Until one day, many moon ago, a storm came in. The current Watcher of the Storms noticed the signs too late and decided, against his leaders decision, to go out and gather the patrols himself. He only had one more patrol left when the storm became too much. Him, along with the four other cats on the patrol, were lost to the seas. The Watcher had yet to select a successor, so there was no suitable replacement. Except for the tom's sister, who he had picked up nearly everything he knew. Seeing the danger in having only cat knowing the secrets of the storms, any cat who showed a talent for the skill received the training. However, it is typically the oldest Stormwatcher whom the leader will listen too. That is why Brightmoon always seeks my judgement. I have lived through many storms, Cragkit, and it only becomes easier to spot them."

The answer apparently satisfied the kit since he scampered away within a few heartbeats.

Screeheart snorted before walking back to the elder's den.

Kits.

Later that night that Dolphintail slipped into the den and sat next to Screeheart.

"How many cats alive still remember Fracture?"

Screeheart titled her head then sighed. "I would say very few."

"Who will remember it when you're gone?"

"No one. And no one needs to."

"Yes. They do." Dolphintail looked deep into Screeheart's eyes. "We're no longer the clans we one were, and if no one remembers that, we'll make the same mistakes again. I wasn't even born when the fighting began and I was already retired before the fighting stopped. Only five cats know the truth about the Fracture, and only one of them is still alive. I don't think you want this truth to die with you."

Screeheart growled. "Maybe I don't. But it's my story to tell, and you're not ready to hear it."

Dolphintail snorted. "Who is? When will I be? On your deathbed?"

"No." Screeheart found Cragkit playing with his sister as their mother scolded them and told them to come back to the nursery. "I'm not telling you the story Dolphintail. I've already found a cat who will listen. One who will understand why everything happened the way it did. And why it all could have been avoided."

Dolphintail seemed unsatisfied with the answer but let it be.

Screeheart would tell someone her story. But only once she was in MoonClan, and a tiny kit became a warrior.

The drunnies are working very hard on the next chapter. To keep them fed, drop a review.

See you next time honey badgers!