He knows Septus is right to some degree, but the way the man phrases it ruffles his feathers. [i]The lives of some peasants.[/i] As if their lives had less meaning than the lives of others, but that was a foolish way to think, because their lives [i]did[/i] have less meaning than those of noble birth, or knights, or inquisitors like themselves. It was an acceptable and normal opinion to have, that those of lesser standing were worth less. Yet they were still human lives, extinguished with but a letter on the wings of a raven to call in the Exterminatus. Gentle and noble as he tries to be, even he can see why this is the case. A common smith is easily replaced; a highly-trained knight, much less so. 
Yet he can't let it go so easily. 

"I believe their lives were worth more than the fleeting consideration they were given," Is all he has time to answer before his good eye catches movement coming towards them. Kerr lowers her head, but not to rest; her eyes are pinned on the approaching dark knights. A low, guttural growl drifts up from her throat, but she doesn't move. Just as she would never lash out at Septus, she knows better than to make a move on these men. She recognizes them as allied in whatever way a dog can make such connections.

Rickard has little interest in participating in the conversation, a common enough occurrence. He keeps his only good eye on the sergeant as Septus speaks to the man, but allows his partner to do the talking.