The houndsmaster remains silent throughout the exchange between Septus and the barkeep. He has nothing to add to the discussion, and isn't much for small talk anyway. He follows his partner to the chosen table with three dogs clinging to his shadow. As soon as he settles into a chair, the trio of hounds begin to situate themselves comfortably. Kerr lays herself down at Rickard's feet, beneath the table, her muzzle resting on the toes of his boots. Her eyes are open, alert for possible threats... or scraps of food that may fall her way. Her brothers flank the houndsmaster on either side, Tivit at his right and Ruhan at his left. They do not lay down like their sister, but remain sitting back on their haunches, stealing glances up at the table every so often.

"It was no accident," Rickard objects, looking across the table at Septus. "The man did it intentionally. Mayhaps the result of some drunken bet, I care not: it was a deliberate action to stomp on Gunther's tail." Gunther wasn't with them this time. Bringing him back here would have probably cause more trouble than they needed right now. "He's fortunate I struck him, anyhow, and did not allow my dog to extract his own breed of toothy justice." To Septus' suggestion that he scrap the idea of a late night walk with his dogs, Rickard could only faintly smile. Septus knew him too well. He always had trouble sleeping when they were away from home, and there was something soothing about walking his hounds in the dead of night. Knowing few people were awake, the way the moonlight and shadows could morph the world into something obscure and unknown... it was peaceful.
He certainly couldn't promise he wouldn't be creeping out before daybreak.

"Sometimes I don't think you worry enough, Septus. Other times I think you worry too much. And I am sorry to say, but you would be a terrible mother." He looks to the plates as they arrive, and all of his dogs do as well. It is the meat they smell, juicy and seared, and Rickad isn't eating for more than two minutes before he begins to slip the hounds scraps of fat from his plate. They take the treats gently from his fingers, each dog only taking the food when he says their name.

"You wish to leave come dawn?" He asks as he slips his hand beneath the table. Quietly he says the dog's name, Kerr, and she nibbles the meat from between his fingers daintily.