First of all, he needed to talk to someone who wouldn't think he was insane due to their lack of memories. Slatepaw swallowed the anxiety that was buzzing its way up his throat and glanced around the apprentice den. His eyes settled on Finchpaw, who was curled tight in a ball, back in her nest. 

He walked past Cinderpaw's nest, a knot forming in his chest at the sight of the warm-brown tom. He felt worse about Cinderpaw's memory loss than he did about any of the others: because somehow, Cinderpaw was more important to him than any of the other rebellion members. A feeling of guilt twisted in his head: you're supposed to treat everyone the same, but he couldn't help it. Something about the other apprentice was just different. Maybe it was that they were the same age, that they'd snuck out of camp together as kits, or that they'd shared their first catches with each other, but he cared about Cinderpaw more than he could explain or justify.

It caused a sick feeling in his chest. Something was wrong with that feeling, but he couldn't put a paw on it. He knew that if he said it out loud, he'd somehow be hurt.

But Cinderpaw was his best friend.

How could he have let this happen to him?

Slatepaw stared down at the warm brown apprentice, who looked more peaceful than the wiry grey tom had ever seen him. His gaze shifted over to Finchpaw, and he took a deep breath.

Cinderpaw, don't worry. I'll fix this. 

He didn't need to be as subtle as the prior night, but still he kept his breaths quiet as he crept over the rest of the sleeping apprentices. Slowly, he stepped over Gorsepaw and seated himself in an empty nest of bracken. He leaned over Finchpaw, stopping before his muzzle brushed her ear.

"Finchpaw," he whispered, as quiet as he could.

She shot up, green eyes flying open. Her head knocked his, but the gray tom managed to keep his balance, drawing in a sharp, loud breath.

Gorsepaw stirred in her nest but didn't awaken.

"Hey, do you want to go on a walk and maybe hunt or something?" he asked, his meow a little louder now.

She gave a silent shrug and nodded.

Together, they stepped over the sleeping form of Gorsepaw, who had rolled over, her belly exposed to the world. For a second, Slatepaw imagined pinning her down and spitting the truth in her face, that she was a traitor to the glimmering beauty of democracy and would never be a real member of NettleClan, but he held back. Violence isn't the answer today, he reminded himself. First, he needed the rest of the rebellion back on his side.

Finchpaw and Slatepaw made their way out of the den. The gray tom's tail lashed back and forth with every step, a slight hint of irritability crackling in his joints. He wanted to get this over with, to go back to the way it had been before. Back when everything was going right. Back when the Clan would finally become what they would need to be in order to not just survive, but to thrive.

"Let's just go to the dirtplace," Finchpaw suggested. "That way no one will get suspicious." Her voice dropped on the second sentence, her green eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

Slatepaw nodded. "Good idea." He turned away from the camp exit and toward the little gap in the bushes that lead to a small clearing that cats made dirt in. Thankfully, as he slipped through the leaves, a thorn pricking his pelt, there didn't seem to be anyone there. 

Slatepaw stepped out of view from the camp, Finchpaw following. He sat down, wrapping his tail neatly around his paws.

"Okay," he meowed, straightening his spine. "We've got to get everyone to remember. Democracy is vital."

Finchpaw nodded.

"So the rebellion is made up of... me, you, Cinderpaw, Shortberry, Sunbelly, Duskscar, Firejaw, and.... Lionpool." The she-cat blinked. "We've got to jog their memories somehow. I was thinking something more direct this time, something they can't just ignore."

"Good idea," Finchpaw meowed quietly, flicking her tail.

"Maybe we should hold a night meeting, tell them there's something important we've got to talk about?"

Finchpaw shook her head slightly. "No, what if someone doesn't believe us? Or drags Brightstar into this?" She spat the leader's name with a venom unnameable. 

Slatepaw nodded in approval, ears flattening against the sides of his skull at the thought of the creamy colored she-cat. "Probably true. No, we've got to get them out of camp for some other reason."

Finchpaw let out a hmm sort of sound, staring off into space for a few moments. "Maybe..." she meowed, "we get them out of camp for something related to the clan. Like, we can go on night patrol, maybe with Sunbelly or something, and then you can claim you saw a cat in the bushes?"

"But then Sunbelly would tell Brightstar, and she'd have Spruceblaze pick the patrols," Slatepaw countered. "He knows. We can't have him have anything to do with this, no."

Finchpaw nodded in agreement. "Probably true."

Slatepaw licked his paw and drew it over his ears, tail anxiously thumping against the ground. "I like the intruder idea, but how do we get all the rebellion cats out?" 

"What if we come running into camp or something? The rebellion members are friends anyways - they might be near each other and then we can just shout out orders. In the chaos, it just might work." Finchpaw tilted her head to the side, green eyes bright.

"It just might work," he echoed. "Good idea." 

They sat in silence for a few heartbeats before Slatepaw stood up. "I'll think about it for a bit and get back to you tonight. We've got to do this as soon as possible. NettleClan can't stand Brightstar's tyranny for much longer."

Finchpaw nodded. "Okay." Her posture straightened, and her eyes were bright with light that Slatepaw had never seen in them before. "Let's take down Brightstar."

written by ezra
finished by ember