Kerr bares her teeth briefly up at Septus as the man looks at her. She is only a dog, but it's as though she can scent his contempt, and feels mutual. Rickard glances to his dog, then back to Septus. He opens his mouth to respond, but his partner is already moving away, and so he doesn't bother. Shaking his head, he exchanges a look with Kerr. He likes to think that in some way she understands these minor irritations, and sympathizes. She looks back at him, but only to await a command, or to continue the walk. So he walks. 

Purging the heretics in the village was necessary. He knows this, and has little qualms about their deaths. They brought it on themselves, and he had a suspicion that if they had been allowed to live, even if forced to vow allegiances and disregard their current beliefs, they would return to their blood cult within two moons. What was that old saying? A tiger cannot change his stripes?
It was the rest of them Rickard disagreed with. Not all within the village walls had been part of the cult. Some knew of the cult's existence and said and did nothing, neither participating nor trying to stop it. This made them guilty by withholding information, and they would have been sentenced as heretics too. But many others were completely oblivious, and in the end he wonders how many had died unknowing of why they were being slaughtered.
Disgusting.

Rickard follows his partner into the tavern even though it's one of the last places he wants to be. Alcohol is not forsaken by the members of the Inquisition, but he still does not drink. He's afraid that if he starts, he may never stop. Kerr slinks alongside her master. Her nails are in dire need of trimming, and they click loudly against the scuffed hardwood floors. She isn't paid so much attention in here, as those of the Order are accustom to the sight of her or another one of Rickard's beasts. The barmaids, also used to the sight of the ugly black dog, make sure to give Kerr a wide berth, however; the dog had taken a young woman's fingers when she had extended her hand too quickly to take coin from the table only a fortnight past. 

He makes his way to the far end of the large common room, opposite of the smoldering firepit against the northern wall. He doesn't like the heat or the noise, and it's always quieter on the south side. The tavern caters towards members of the Order, and there are no rooms for rent. The living quarters above the tavern are for the owner of the establishment and his family, all of which are busy working the floor. This means that blissfully, there is no sounds of stomping or drunken bellowing from the second floor. 

Kerr squeezes her way beneath the table Rickard has chosen and lays contentedly in the shadows. She stares out from her new hideaway, eyes gleaming in the soft firelight of a nearby lit candelabra. She doesn't rest her muzzle on her paws, or adopt any sort of posture indicating rest. When she is out of her kennel she is working.

Rickard sits in the chair nearest his animal, and though the toes of his soft leather boots dig gently into Kerr's side as he situates himself, she doesn't give any indication that she notices or cares. Finally Rickard does speak, and it's the words he had been about to offer earlier, on the street, before Septus had turned away so dismissively. "We made nothing safer for those dead who did no wrong."