Stone Circle turn off your porcelain face

With a vague recollection of his whereabouts guided by bits of pieces of fleeting memories obtained in youth, the juvenile made his way through the hidden terrain with a tepid, wobbly gate. His body—once plump and over-fed in his days here was now hollowed, sunken. And along with it the dryness of his mouth did everything but distract the overwhelming pain in his stomach that festered with each growing hour.

He had been uncertain for most of his days. Uncertain of his meals, of his safety, of his sanity. But now the only thing he was certain of was the standing stones; a beacon in the land—they marked a place that he once sought comfort from. A home. A family.

And yet... he was uncertain if they still held such values to him. They probably did.

Somewhere deep down.

He paid no mind to the overwhelming stench at the borders as he passed through them. He didn't care. Just like he did for his fur.  The once a cool tone of grey was now dyed black by grit, hanging off his body in a spindly nature that hid him from those who might of once known him.