Lion Head Mesa morning star shook me from my sleep

He did not know how he arrived at this place, but he knew it wasn't where he was supposed to be. There was this itch at the back of his neck - a feeling like he was being watched and the hairs were standing on end. Larus knew his name, knew who he was, and thoroughly so. But this was not home. He was supposed to be -- over there? Or over here? The man paced across the winding mesa until his pads were raw, awaiting the moment where he would remember, or see something, or smell a familiar scent upon the arid spring wind. Nothing came. Every so often he thought he saw spires rising in the distance - a mirage of sorts, a fleeting memory as it was unjustly purged from his mental space - and then nothing but open air and questions.