Mother
Music has always glorified war. I didn't believe it until two years ago, the day my husband was sent back to die. They said they had done all that they could, so they sent him home. Now they take the only family I have left, a boy not quite nine summers old – my young son with his entire life before him. Will he too, be sent home to die?
Son
There's a new fear in mama's eyes. What these men have come for canna be good. For a second, I see a scary look in their eyes. Why do they have that empty look? Even when daddy was hurt he never looked like these men; mama said that fighting changes people, but daddy always that something that these men don't. Did these men change too much?
Mother
The minstrels always sing of brave and noble men. They sing of the great deeds that filled the battlefield as they fought to protect one another. Never do they sing of the needless lives that were lost, of the countless wives waiting in vain for their lord, or of mothers wailing deep into the night for the child who will not return. Nothing of the sundered families or anything that truly matters.
And they come now to take my son, the only family left to me. Will they sing of his deeds too?
Son
Mama! Why do you cry so? Please mama, don't make me go with them! I don't wanna leave you mama! Please mama, please don't let go!
Mother
My child! Oh my son!
No, please! Please sir, do not take him! He is all that I have left. You took my husband, why must you take my child too! Good sir, please!
Be strong my son…
Son
Mama!