Sol

Sol is a bony, long-haired tortoiseshell tom with a white chest, no Clan and no kittypet collar. His fur is matted at the flanks, his left ear is torn, and a pale scar crosses his face. He usually wanders where trouble is brewing in the forest: by border streams before a Gathering, at river pools after a flood, or near a strange camp in a time of sickness. Where he sleeps and what he eats, nobody knows.

Sol doesn't believe in StarClan, but he sees perfectly well how tightly Clan cats cling to them. He asks questions quietly and insinuatingly, as if by chance. Why does a medicine cat never misread a sign? What makes the stars point to that particular leader? And why does everyone around break the warrior code while you're the one who pays for it? He doesn't need answers: what matters to him is planting seeds of doubt.

He never attacks first, doesn't touch mice on another cat's hunting path, and steers clear of kits. His weapon is words that can shatter an old friendship without a single claw strike. And he serves up bitter truths in a way that makes them impossible to argue with.

In conversation, Sol is lazy and mocking. He listens closely, narrows his amber eyes, and easily hands your own thoughts back to you. Try to pressure him and he'll shut down, change his tone, and slip away from a direct answer.