Your world is rot. Your nostrils fill with the smell of excrement and decay that tends to fill your home. Still, it's all you have. You scurry among the scattered ruins, climbing atop a massive section of castle wreckage, sniffing the air.
A rusted, blood-stained sword sits in one hand, a leather pouch hanging from your shoulder. Your whiskers tingle with excitement as you smell the scent of burning meat. Campfires are near, and where there's campfire, there's a caravan. Where there's a caravan, there's food.