"Crossbow is adequate," He responds mildly, though he knows Septus wasn't really expecting an answer. His partner has seen him fight with a blade... of course he will use a crossbow over a melee weapon every given chance. He nods, glancing briefly to the designated meeting spot, and deserts the space at Septus' side.

Rickard retrieves Kerr from where she patiently awaits his return. She's still sitting beside the building, and her dark eyes catch sight of him immediately... yet she does not move. He says nothing to her, only gives a quick click of his tongue against his teeth as he walks past her, and that is all it takes for the man to summon her to his side. She pads at his heels, following him towards the kennels. 

It's a small building not far from the stables. There is enough room to house a dozen dogs with a single dog to a pen, but only eight occupy the structure. They howl and bark and whine excitedly when the door clashes open and the houndsmaster enters with Kerr at his side. He likes it in here. It smells like a stable (the familiar scent of hay, used for bedding in this case; cool, clean water; dirt and muck and fur), but there is a unique tinge in the air... a wild scent, the smell of blood. These are carnivores, and he feeds them as such. They get fresh meat, good meat.

If Rickard was ever given the choice between training his hounds and joining Septus on a mission, he would choose the dogs without hesitation. Sadly this is not an opportunity that ever presents itself, and so he is always leaving home to purge some new perceived threat. It isn't that he doesn't like Septus; they may disagree on things, not always see eye to eye, but his partner is probably the closest thing he has ever had, or will ever have, to a friend. It isn't that he loathes his work, either. There are aspects of it he cannot stand, such as when the lives of innocents are sacrificed for naught. There is always a claim that it's for the 'greater good', but Rickard doesn't think any one in the Order really knows what good is... much less the 'greater good'. Still, it is work he excels at, and work that does reap its rewards. There [i]are[/i] people and beasts and practices in the world that need to be destroyed, to keep the innocent who are allowed to live safe. It is this notion, the one that he is doing some good for some people who deserve it, that keeps him from completely losing control. 
That, and his dogs. And the dogs are so much more tolerable than the people, so he would choose them every time.

He thinks perhaps when he reaches an age suitable for retirement, if he lives long enough to be deemed too old to be useful out in the world, he will tend the dogs full time. He trains them well, and perhaps some day the Order may understand and see what he sees in the animals. They don't put much stock in the hounds. They trust their own steel better than the jaws of a beast, but they humor him, allowing him to tend the dogs. Maybe because they do glean something of worth from the animals, maybe because he can at least put them to use... maybe because they don't really care one way or the other. It matters not, so long as they leave him be to his work. It's a silly dream anyway, to even think he might live long enough to earn some semblance of retirement. It's perfectly reasonable to assume they wouldn't come back from the Blasted Lands. 

He takes his time with the dogs: brushing out their coats in search of chewing lice (which there are none, of course not, he checks every night); checking their mouths for loose or rotting teeth (another nightly duty, and not a pearly white is out of order); tending the nails of those who had been allowed to grow too long (Kerr was one of these, and she let Rickard know how unhappy she was with him clipping her talons by growling all throughout the process). He doesn't do it for only the three he intends to take, but for all eight of the dogs. He is gentle with them, talks to them throughout the process though he isn't enchanted enough to believe they actually understand him. By the time he has finished grooming the animals, Septus has been left waiting at the fountain for almost half an hour, ten minutes or so beyond the time they had been schedule to meet.

Rickard finally does leave the kennels behind, Kerr curled up in her own pen. He has a puzzled expression on his face when he spots his partner and the horses near the fountain, his head tipping to one side. "I thought we were leaving at daybreak... you want to ride now? When it will be dark soon?"