I crawled toward them--crawled, literally, like a caterpillar; for wherever my body touched the surface of the cubes the attracting force held it, allowed a creeping movement only, surface sliding upon surface--and weirdly enough like a human measuring-worm I looped myself over to them.
As my bare palms clung to the Things I realized with finality that whatever their activation, their life, they WERE metal.
There was no mistaking now the testimony of touch.

Metal they were, with a hint upon contact of highly polished platinum, or at the least of a metal as finely grained as it.
Also they had temperature, a curiously pleasant warmth--the surfaces were, I judged, around ninety-five degrees Fahrenheit.

I looked deep down into the little sparkling points that were, I knew, organs of sight; they were like the points of contact of innumerable intersecting crystal planes.

They held strangest paradoxical suggestion of being close to the surface and still infinite distances away.
And they were like--what was it they were like ?--it came to me with a distinct shock.
They were like the galaxies of little aureate and sapphire stars in the clear gray heavens of Norhala's eyes.
I crept beside Drake, struck him with my head.
"Can't move," I shouted.

"Can't lift my hands.