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?

The apprentice planned to carve the rebellion's symbol into every tree he came across. The trees in NettleClan's territory were spaced rather far apart, so it would be difficult to get every tree, but that wasn't really the plan. There was a decent amount of undergrowth, so he knew that he had to be quick and weave his way through the vegetation carefully.

The rebellion had originally come up with a symbol that represented the group's ideas and goal. A flame, smooth and fiery against whatever surface it was on. It was composed of two intersecting marks, one curving up the side and the other jaggedly cutting down in a harsh edge, the cruel reality that all rebellions came with.

The apprentice paused by a tree, hurriedly unsheathing his claws and scratching the symbol into the trunk. He continued on, stopping once more by another tree and carving the symbol into its bark. It was hard work, but he continued.

There's no way that they'll all miss the sign. 

Slatepaw ceased his dashing once more as he came upon a section of trees. Chiseling out the bark to make sure the symbol was clear for everyone to see, he continued on. Still, he had no moss.

This is foolproof! They'll all see it!

He thought, carving more and more of the flame into tree after tree he passed. His claws were aching. The pale gray tom trotted up to a new tree, glancing upward somewhat at its branches before shaking a paw and lifting it up towards the bark.

Suddenly, he stopped as a whiff of cat-scent touched his muzzle. 

"Slatepaw?"

It sounded close.

The apprentice's heart leaped into his chest. What could he do? He had no moss. He couldn't just say he'd gotten lost.

Well, he could. Would they believe him? Probably not. A huff escaped his muzzle and he cursed himself a moment later for letting it leave.

"Hello?"

The voice seemed closer.

Slatepaw carefully slipped past a few trees, edging away from where the voice had come from. 

His green gaze swept every tree, praying for moss to suddenly appear on it. None did.

Suddenly, a slight scuffling noise reached his ears. The gray-furred tom stopped, turning slightly to see a squirrel near the base of a tree. That tree hadn't been marked. Slatepaw dropped smoothly into a hunter's crouch and crept toward the squirrel. 

His tail tip twitched absently and the squirrel looked up, its gaze terrified as it met Slatepaw's.

If I'm loud, they'll know I was catching something-!

An explosive yowl sprung from his jaws as he hurtled forward, slamming a paw down on where the squirrel had once been. Now, it was haring away from him. He forced an angry hiss to slip past his muzzle as he dashed after it.

Weaving carefully through the undergrowth, he grew closer and closer to the squirrel. His senses sharpened as he continued to bound after it. Its bushy tail was almost in his clutches - so close, so close...!

Slatepaw rammed right into a tree.

Pulling back from the impact, he stumbled slightly on his paws, and to his shock, Peonystrike's voice greeted his ears.

"Slatepaw? Slatepaw! Are you okay?"

He blinked, trying to steady himself. He hadn't been expecting that. The apprentice shook his head, attempting to clear his mind of the blurriness that crowded it.

"Slatepaw?" She approached him carefully, eyes worried.

"I'm- I'm fine," he managed to squeak out with the little air left in his lungs, still trying to catch his breath.

"Did you get distracted?" Peonystrike asked with a slight tilt of her head. Her eyes were no longer worried, rather more sharp and curious.

"There was a squirrel... I thought it would be good to catch," the tom meowed, ducking his head. His pelt was prickling with shame. I'm not lying.

"Yes, but... we assigned you to get moss, not prey," Peonystrike reprimanded gently, "It was nice to think of getting prey, but next time please try to focus on your task."

Slatepaw nodded. There was no way he would apologize for trying to get the rebellion to remember. They couldn't forget, they couldn't!

"Slatepaw?"

He shook his head, tail flickering slightly behind him, "What?"

"I said, can you go find some moss now? Do you need me to accompany you?"

The apprentice's eyes flashed briefly before he answered, "I can go by myself."

Peonystrike narrowed her coppery eyes for a moment before giving him a nod."If you don't come back with moss, I'll be sure that you clean the elder's nests."

Slatepaw flicked an ear, signifying acknowledgment. "Yes, Peonystrike."

"Good. Now go find some moss."

The apprentice turned and fled through the undergrowth, not really caring about the moss too much because he'd done the thing he planned to.

Now, practically every tree in NettleClan's territory was scoured with the rebellion's symbol.

There was no way they'd miss the sign now.

Right?

Written by Lamb :)
& edited by ezra + ember c: