Nikolas was trying to imagine what it would be like to not have a sense of touch, that being the only sense left to be taken. He had heard stories in his tribe of people who had gotten frostbite so severe that all feeling in the fingers, the hand, or the foot was simply gone. It was hard to think of what the lack of feeling would<span style="font-style: italic">feel</span>like.<br/><br/>It wasn’t long before Nikolas no longer had to imagine, except what he had been thinking of was nothing like what actually happened. Instead of the sense being taken away, touch was used. Unseen things brushed his exposed skin, or touched his shoulders, his back. At first it was simply a process of shrugging off the light touches, as though they were nothing more but a moth, or some other insect, but soon the touches became much more persistent, stronger, like actual hands pressing against him. It was disturbing to not be able to see whatever it was.<br/><br/>All the old ghost stories he had heard growing up came back to him, stories of people getting lost in snowstorms, wandering off cliffs, or being attacked by feral dogs for seemingly no reason. As much as he knew what he was feeling wasn’t real, the strange feelings still had Nikolas tense, ready to spring into action despite still being blinded.