[Sabal]

It seemed unnatural that the sea should touch shore without a thick layer of sea ice spreading out across the bay. Something in Sabal cringed at the very idea that the ground beneath him was not frozen. It wasn't right. The dun beat down on the sand that crunched beneath his paws. The saber's thick fur was made to keep in heat against arctic winds. Not so much to keep any sort of heat out.

The forest around him seemed designed to keep the heat in - all those tree canopies holding warmth and moisture down close to the earth. Sabal was so distracted by the uncomfortable feeling he managed to miss the claw marks on many of the trees. Instead he found his way to a tiny stream and flopped gracelessly down so the water ran across his fur. A thankful groan left the snow saber at the feeling. This was better. 

Wandering for so long had broken down what fat the pale cat had stored. He wasn't quite the cat who had been in Grimsthorpe, but at the same time there had been little hope of survival without a pride to help when the goings got tough. Sabal could have stayed in the icy wasteland by himself but the idea of isolation was...distasteful. 

So the white saber had come to somewhere warmer.