A Second Portion

In her arms he seemed once again her baby, her toddling youngster, no sort of soldier at all, simply her son. To her heart he'd always be that child she hoped would never grow into the man his father was, for that man would've also foolishly fought a battle he'd lose. Her boy, her baby, her only reason for life, her sole hope for the world.
The horses came.
She held him tighter.
"Mother, I have to go now." A wretched sob.
"I love you." Her knees buckled. She felt him support her with his arms. Not the arms of a warrior at all. Only her baby, and she had certainly turned to dust in his hold.
Then to the frigid ground he gently let her rest, as he turned and faced his destiny, a fate that called to him from shores distant.
Blinded, she rose to her feet and ran to stop him, but the hold of another stopped her. Words were passed between some faceless man and her son, but she heard them not for she could only scream for him to stop, stop, if he ran so fast he'd surely fall and bump his head!
If he climbed so high he'd undoubtedly lose his grip and tumble down!
If he swam too far out his young muscles would tire and into the depths he'd sink!
But he was gone without a hesitation at her warnings, as children always did.