Blank Slate

CHAPTER FIVE

Slatepaw woke with a start, green eyes sharp as he sat up.

I have to get them to remember.

The words flashed through his head like lightning. Without a pause, the tom rose to his paws, tail twitching anxiously beside him. Anticipation flooded through him, and he turned slightly. His gaze flitted over Gorsepaw, whose ginger-and-white pelt was smooth and groomed. She was clearly awake, though her head was resting on the side of her nest.

Beside her, Cinderpaw slept peacefully, flanks rising and falling with the motion of his breath.

A huff escaped Slatepaw's muzzle, and he slipped out of the apprentice's den without even the quietest rustle of a leaf. There was no use to waking up Cinderpaw and Gorsepaw - they had nothing to do with the rebellion. At least for now, he thought.

Squinting against the leaf-fall sun, he gazed around the camp with a watchful green gaze. There were a few cats up, namely Shortberry, Olivestem, and Otterfur - who he spotted first. They were milling near the fresh-kill pile, scuffing their paws against the ground as they talked. A few grumbles reached Slatepaw's ears. The pile's probably running low.

Boulderspot, whose dark gray tabby fur shimmered in the morning light, was standing near the camp's entrance. So was Peonystrike... right beside Spruceblaze.

Anger split through Slatepaw like an earthquake cracking open the ground beneath his very paws. How dare the deputy do such a thing to his mentor? Out of any cat! Poor Burnetflame... He imagined her, trapped beneath the tom's sharp, edged claws, terror pulsing through her as he brought a paw down over her throat-

"Slatepaw! Come over here!"

He shook his head to clear it of the memories and swiftly headed toward his mentor.

"Can I go on hunting patrol?" Slatepaw asked, blinking as light slanted into his green eyes.

Peonystrike's tail flicked. "We need to gather some moss... How about that, instead of a patrol?"

Perfect!

Slatepaw nodded, "Sure. Will it just be us?"

"No, Boulderspot will be coming too."

The tom didn't know the warrior too well, but Slatepaw wasn't really looking forward to being with him. He didn't want to be questioned.

"Okay," he replied anyways, "When are we going?"

"Now," Boulderspot cut in, his voice steely and harsh. "Let's go." The gray warrior turned and quickly stormed from the camp.

Slatepaw blinked, almost surprised at the older cat's curtness, and resolved to return it back to him. If he was going to be like that, the apprentice would return the favor. 

As the three left the camp, Slatepaw was thinking of ways that he could slip away from the group. If he didn't come up with one soon, he would be doomed. His plan would fall to the ground and shatter, and then it would take even longer to jog everyone's memories. And with precious time slipping through his paws at every second, an accompanying anxiety was pulsing along with his heartbeat, throbbing in his chest.

"I think there's some moss over there," blurted the apprentice, "Can I go grab it?"

Peonystrike and Boulderspot shared a glance.

"Yes," answered the latter bluntly. 

Slatepaw gave the tom a glare and then headed off to where the moss was.

Of course, there was no moss. He simply needed to be alone to make sure they didn't question him.

His plan?