Moonspear change in the house of flies

The smell of fresh meat had drawn him north along the mountain.
He knew by now that the trek could have been his last, that his precious calories had been spent in climbing with little payoff, and so this was his last attempt to seek out sustenance in a world gone mad.
The boy did not resemble anyone in his family any longer. His raggedy black coat hung loose from his too-thin body, with the bulk of his top coat having thinned and gone ratty. There was no lustre to him at all, rather, the boy's movements were frenetic and his eyes wide, wild.
The smell came from an exposed cache. Some smaller creature - hungry like himself - rooted through the dirt in pursuit of a slice of dessicated meat, something barely palatable, but it was enough of a lure to bring forth the boy. He thought to target the runty raccoon while it dug and pulled at the cache - but upon nearing, the creature noticed him and gave a shrieking hiss that kept him recoiled.
The boy's lips pulled back in a silent mimicry of the pest, his yellowed teeth catching the light. The raccoon did not budge from where it had nested in the dirt, though, and Tywyll was left to wonder on his next tactic.