There's this strange idea people have, that ice is cold. Even Nolan used to think that, though he was having real trouble remembering why. The truth is, nothing is cold. Everything else is just far too warm. Like this floor. Hard stone, slightly porous, it would rapidly take on the temperature of the surrounding area. It was greedy stone, the kind that would absorb anything you fed to it. And it was drinking.
Finally, the pain registered, and he forced himself to his feet. Even that was exhausting, and the effort left him lightheaded. He reached out, using the wall to steady himself. But instead of more solid, thirsty stone, he found bars. These weren't cold, but they were at least not so burning hot as the stone, and he rested his head against them, trying to clear his mind. He'd been stalking his prey. A deer, starved and pathetic looking, but alive. It would have made a good meal. He needed a good meal, he'd been living on nothing but dried out fruit and rotten vegetables. Anything he could eat raw. He couldn't bring himself to cook.
Whatever they had done to him, he couldn't remember. But it left him with frozen blood caked on his head, matted in his hair. That, he realized, was what he was feeling, not the bars. The bars weren't cool at all. In fact...
He leaped back, hissing. The bars of his cell were burning hot. Too hot to touch, and getting hotter. He backed away, shrinking into a corner, trying to get cold once again. That was when he noticed her. She must have been there the whole time, but when she got to her feet and spoke, that was when she actually got his attention. Her turned to her, and tried to get a look. Female. More than that, he couldn't really gather. Was she a threat? Was she the one who put him in here, or was she a fellow prisoner?
"The name's Nolan. Who the hell are you?"