Dawn Treader Valley and give me what’s mine

The boy became Rowdy’s third tail. He was all he had to cling to in these days, the witch and her familiar could never offer what his mother and father had. 
The sun beat hot on his back in the afternoon. But there was no warmth here.
Rowdy is more outspoken than him. He is quiet; owlish, always staring at the spindly woman in a way that showed his unease. 
Unease and sore feet are all he can feel.
But now—a full belly would be worth the cost of enduring the foul tasting food. 
His only utterance, a whiny complaint;
Why? i wan’ go home.