Blank Slate

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Slatepaw crept over a vast green field, stalking a rabbit. It had not yet detected his scent and instead focused entirely on nibbling at the soft grass beneath its feet. One pawstep at a time, Slatepaw drew closer and closer until he was nearly on top of the creature. He unsheathed his claws and made to swipe at his prey, but it had vanished, only to reappear more than tree-length away. 

Without pausing to register the oddity of the situation, he exploded into an agile sprint. His feet pounded against the ground with enough force to rattle the heather. The rabbit must've felt his movements through the earth, for it had started off on a horizontal course, sending Slatepaw scrambling against the dirt to change direction. 

He could see himself approaching the tiny animal swiftly. With a loud yowl of determination, he catapulted himself off the ground, soaring gracefully toward the object of the hunt. As the tip of his claw made contact with the rabbit's delicate flesh, it disappeared into a thin burrow underground. Without a moment of hesitation, Slatepaw followed suit, hoping to squeeze his way in after it.

But when he entered the hole, he felt himself falling fast. A panicked screech escaped his muzzle. With nothing to grasp, his limbs flailed hopelessly, touching nothing but air. Darkness swamped his vision, forcing his eyes to screw themselves shut. The drop was eternal and there was nothing Slatepaw could do to end it. 

"Slatepaw!" A voice cut through the suffocating gloom. It was familiar. "Hey, Slatepaw!" It called again. 

Slatepaw peeled his eyes open to find himself curled up tightly in his nest. He raised his head, bleary vision managing to make out the ginger-and-white figure of Gorsepaw. The hunting, the rabbit, the hole, and the falling, it all must've been a dream. 

"What?" He asked, failing to keep the barbed tone of irritation out of his voice. That's what happens when someone wakes him up.

His companion either didn't notice or didn't care. "Embershade and Peonystrike sent me to wake you. We're on patrol with Lionpool."

"Dawn patrol?" Slatepaw asked, straining his golden gaze toward the entrance of the den to figure out what time it was.

"Sunhigh, mousebrain," Gorsepaw answered with a shake of her head. "Peonystrike let you sleep in after you exhausted yourself hunting yesterday."

As he stood and shook the scraps of moss from his fur, he tried to recall the previous day. With Finchpaw's help and a bit of luck, he had managed to bring back a decent amount of fresh-kill to add the pile. But that wasn't what had tired him out. All the work to spread PrickleClan's scent and remark all the trees had been quite taxing and left him drained by the end of the day.

Realization smacked Slatepaw like a massive gust of wind. The scents and marks! Had the morning patrols taken any notice? Now would be the perfect opportunity to find out.

Slatepaw slid past Gorsepaw and spotted Peonystrike, Embershade, and Lionpool waiting by the camp's entrance. 

"There you are," Peonystrike greeted him as he padded over. "Are you ready to go?"

"Yes!" Slatepaw replied quickly, perhaps a little too enthusiastically.

The five cats departed the camp, heading toward the PrickleClan border. Before long, Slatepaw took notice of the fresh symbols on the trees. They would soon be approaching the sites of the forged invasion. 

"Does anyone smell that?" He piped up, hoping to arouse his Clanmates' suspicion of their neighboring Clan.

Peonystrike lifted her nose into the air, pausing to inhale deeply. "Smell what?" She asked when she appeared to have found nothing out of the ordinary.

"PrickleClan," Slatepaw responded.

"Now that you mention it," Lionpool added with a slow nod of his ginger tabby head, "I do."

"Let's investigate." Embershade declared.

The group approached a nearby boulder, one that Slatepaw specifically remembered marking with PrickleClan scent. 

"No doubt," Lionpool stated. "That's PrickleClan, alright."

Gorsepaw squinted at the boulder and tilted her head. "You think they trespassed on our territory?"

Peonystrike nodded. "There's no other explanation."

"But why would they do that?" The bicolor apprentice asked.

"I'm not sure, but they've been acting a bit aggressive recently," Embershade answered.

"Perhaps they wanted to steal some prey," Slatepaw interjected, trying to remain inconspicuous and as oblivious as the rest.

"Or maybe they were scouting the territory that they're planning to steal?" Peonystrike added, her expression etched in speculation. 

"Gorsepaw," Embershade started, "would you look around for more of these markers?"

Slatepaw's mentor gave a curt nod. "You too, Slatepaw."

The two apprentices agreed and turned to scout the rest of the territory. As they walked in silence among the trees, Slatepaw's grey pelt itched uncomfortably. It was always so awkward between the two of them. If only Finchpaw or Cinderpaw was with them to break the tension that stretched itself across the area like a thick, ominous spiderweb. 

Slatepaw cleared his throat uneasily. "So..." he began after a moment of hesitation, "crazy, right?"

Gorsepaw seemed no more satisfied with the cumbersome stillness as he did, so she obliged in making jittery conversation. "The PrickleClan scent?"

"Yeah."

"I know," she mewed, raising her nose to take a sniff, "it is odd."

"What do you think our mentors are going to do?"

"Probably tell my mother," she answered with a shrug.

Slatepaw cast his golden gaze downward, trying to calm his speeding heart as he asked, "do you think Brightstar will lead an attack or something?"

"Hard to say. Maybe not right away, but definitely if this continues."

"What if PrickleClan invades?"

"Then we'll have to fight."

The tom's ears perked up. The fight, the plan! It was all working as he and Finchpaw hoped it would. Soon enough, NettleClan would be free of Brightstar's tyrannical reign. "That would so be gr–" he paused, catching the uncanny enthusiasm in his voice, and swallowed, "interesting."

"Interesting?" Gorsepaw asked with narrowed eyes. Oh no. 

"Yeah... uh... it would be cool," he mumbled, eyes glued to his paws. 

"How would it be cool? Cats could get hurt and die!"

"I just– I meant... that it'd be cool to finally put our training to use, you know?" 

"I suppose. But let's just hope for the best."

As the duo continued through their territory, Slatepaw released a breath. Nice save, Slatepaw. He thought apathetically. He had almost given himself away as a rebel! He could hardly imagine how disastrous it would be if Brightstar's daughter discovered his plan. 

Inhaling deeply, he shook his head to clear it. Soon, the plan would be in motion. He would just have to be extra careful until then.

Written by Feather.