A vagabond stray, he'd ventured out and away to make his home. The rocks were warm, though jagged and inhospitable to his hide, but he still slept on them. The fire died easy, but he still sat beside it. It was dark and cold in the evening, but he knew he could endure it. Nothing was impossible as long as he remained within his own rights and reasons. He was alright, even though the voices that called to him seemed determined to say otherwise.
He needed them. He was a child. He was weak and needed affection. He would never survive on his own.
Perhaps they were right, perhaps they were wrong. Either way, he would survive, With or Without them.