A wind rushes over the flatlands, a whispering growl of a hunchbacked little burrowing creature, laughs in oscillations along with the tune of dry grass being pushed flat. The ground is drying out, and distant snow patches on mountain peaks are melting. Clouds still form here, and the scurrying continues as pressure lifts off the temporal lobe, in an opening of eyelids and lighting strike of scenery explodes into view.

This is the first thing he sees when he wakes up.

Where to go next?