"So you're saying…" the woman trailed off weakly, her happiness fading visibly from her face as her warm brown eyes roved the man's face, searching desperately for anything that would indicate it was only a cruel joke.

He hung his head shamefaced at her examination. He had known, if not explicitly then subconsciously, that they viewed their relationship through different eyes.

He had balked at her hints of marriage and children; while she had raised her hackles at any mention that it wasn't a serious relationship.

In short, their relationship had been in trouble before they had even kissed.

"Mya, it's not that I don't like you, it's just I think we want different things from this." He spread his large hands, indicating the two of them.

"Of course, you only figured this out after you bedded me half a dozen times!" Mya said, tears welling up in her eyes. She had thought that this man was the one she could settle down with.

He flinched at her words, for they struck close to the truth. He had sought to know her only after seeing her lithe frame in the neat uniform of a maid.

But really, she was more then any other mot was. The mots he knew pulled the dresses low, painted their faces, and were quick to canoodle. She wasn't quite like that. Her dresses were respectable, and if her face was painted, it was with flour. She was quicker to talk than to kiss. Overall it fascinated him.

"Mya, maybe that's true. There's more though; if there were anyone in the world I would marry, it would be you. But I'm not the marrying type," he admitted, reaching a large hand to pat her shoulder in comfort.

Mya slapped the hand away; tears running freely down her face. "I was just another mot, wasn't I?" She raised her palm again; she had never felt so betrayed.

He caught her wrist. "You could never be another mot. But I'm a Dog, Mya. I can't settle down and give you the life you deserve. You can't depend on me to be anything but unreliable." He spoke low and fast, trying desperately to convince her.

"Unhand me." Mya's voice was dull. "I never want to see you again."

Slowly and reluctantly, he left her, closing the door softly behind him. He strode away purposefully, but once he was back in the tidy home, he let himself mourn the loss of probably the one good mot that would love him.

---

Mya slumped to the floor the moment the door swung shut behind his back. Her tears fell thick and freely. She thought that they would have a happy little family.

She had even named their first four, but now it seemed she was discarded. He had used her, gotten what he wanted, and now had no use for her.

"Why, he was probably charming the next mot right now," she bitterly thought.

She would have continued in that vein of thought indefinitely, if there hadn't been a rap on the wooden door that kitchen deliveries came through. Shakily she rose, using her apron to wipe her eyes and face. Opening the door, she saw the familiar, if homely, face of Ulfrec. He had on his shoulder a sack of potatoes and a broad grin that widened when he saw Mya.

"Hullo Ulfrec. Do you mind placing them potatoes over there?" Mya pointed vaguely to a corner.

"Sure thing, Miss Mya." Ulfrec swung the potatoes down into the corner and turned to Mya. "Forgive me, but it looks like you've been crying."

"It's the past now." Mya turned and half-heartedly began to pick up some odds and ends from breakfast.

"Does it hurt to talk about it? I mean, talking can help." Ulfrec scuffed his feet, feeling like he had said something wrong. He was rather surprised when the young woman flung herself into his arms, sobbing.

"I thought…I was a fool. I thought…marriage….children. Was it wrong? Like to expect…" Mya's speech was fragment and punctuated by many sobs and hiccups, but as Ulfrec awkwardly patted her back and made sympathetic noises, he pieced together the story.

He felt a protective instinct rise, and he held her closer, all the while reassuring her. They might have stayed embraced for a while, if not for an embarrassed cough from another maid.

---

"It hurt me then, you know. Now though, I'm glad. You taught me something, and I couldn't be happier with Ulfrec. I wonder some days though, if we could have made it work." Mya said, stirring a pot of soup carefully.

"If I had known you were such a good cook, maybe it would have worked out between us." The man replied, deftly hooking a roll from a serving maid's burden.

"Maybe." Mya smiled. "You're certainly unique, Tunstall. I've never met a more feckless man."